


Me Before You

by SophtheToph



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Pregnancy, Romance, War, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophtheToph/pseuds/SophtheToph
Summary: Disclaimer: Nothing to do with the movie. and i own nothing. if i did i would be too busy rolling in dough to write an alternate version. all belong to Martin and the show makersRobert uses his royal authority to change the course of Sansa and Jaime's life. The events follow GoT and ASOIF but the timelines are slightly different shortened or lengthened to suit the need of the story. The story starts right after Jaime attacks Ned in 298 AL and ends in 305 AL. Sansa born in 283AL (same age as Joffrey in the story) is 15 in the beginning and Jaime born in 266AL is 32. Please take a peak and review! This is my first time writing so I hope its not too shit with the writing. Will try to update asap!





	1. Chapter 1

298 AL

 

Robert was, for once, pleased at himself. This was the perfect plot to retain peace in the realm. The Lannister for better or for worse, mostly for the worse, were his family by marriage. Taking the King’s good brother hostage…oh Cat what were you thinking?!? But atleast now he had the situation under control. He could not afford a war between the Lannisters and the Starks- the latter were his greatest allies for the past two decades and Ned was more his brother than either the morose stickler Stannis or that pansy Renly. No, he had to ensure a stoppage to this enmity. 

For once that slimy spider Varys had been useful and told him of the Imp’s arrest by Catelyn Stark and Tywin Lannister’s intent to free his captive Lannister imp. As soon as he had heard about it, he knew the Old Lion would bristle at what he would consider a great affront. Tywin may not have any love for the monstrous good brother of his but the boy was Lannister none the less and his good father would not stand for any noblemen of Robert’s kingdom besmirching the name of House Lannister. House Lannister House Lannister…fuck House Lannister! Was it not enough that he’d married the cunt of Casterly Rock? That all three of his children look Lannister? That he had to tolerate that pompous arse Kingslayer in his Kingsguard and the overly smart Imp for years? No! They go wage war without HIS consent on the family of HIS HAND- for pride! 

But he knew of one thing the Old Lion cared for more than his pride and certainly cares for more than his Imp son. He had been whinging about it for years! Yes, it would work out perfectly- give the old bastard his fucking heir back, gift wrapped with a young highborn bride from a fertile stock and in exchange his good father would put down arms against the Starks and Tullys- that was the royal decree he’d sent out and sure enough the lion was delighted to accept. Gods! It’s not like Robert does not owe the man enough in wealth! But there was the matter of Ned…his brother would hate him for this. It was no secret what Ned thought about the Kingslayer- ‘an oathbreaker! Send him to the wall!’ he’d said. Well an oathbreaker he may be but the smug bastard had done what Robert and Ned themselves were itching to do. But then, there was not much Ned could do against a royal decree without bringing war to his bannermen. He’d relent and the Tully’s would never harm kin; the Imp would be kin then even if he is a Lannister- Family, Duty, Honour and family came first; Catelyn would relent too.

Besides, in time Ned would see, he was doing the girl a favour. Robert was not blind to the cruelty that bubbled within his heir- the kind even him nor his harpy of a wife was capable of. Gods there had been countless times when he found himself wishing his daughter was his firstborn son, or even his youngest was born first- they were good children, kind and joyous. The Kingslayer for all his flaws, and there were plenty, was not the kind to brutalize women. He saw it in the ghost in his eyes upon looking at Elia Martell’s corpse, in the flinch of his shoulders on the news of Rhaella Targaryen’s passing, in the clench of his fist every time Robert had deemed to hit his sister. He would not hurt the girl. Robert briefly thought if that weakness came from being motherless so young and gleefully wondered whether he should covertly murder Cersei to see if it made his son a better man. Thinking about his wife, a surely rare occurrence, at least the woman will stop her insistent bitching about her first-born son being handed a Northern savage wolf. But more than anything once this sordid affair was over, he could go back to his fucking and hunting in peace. Yes, King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name yada yada yada horseshit, was proud of his perfect plan. He would dismiss Ser Jaime Lannister from his Kingsguard. The fool had even gone ahead and given him a valid reason by picking a bloody brawl with the hand of the King! And he would see the man wedded to Sansa Stark within the week and all would be back to the boring shitpile it was in the realm.

It would be a fortunate coincidence or the Gods’ small mercy that King Robert would never see the consequences of his perfect plans.

 

305 AL

But Sansa did, as she stood at the top of Dragonstone overlooking the harbour, she remembered all of it. As she watched the fleet set for Kings Landing disappear into the horizon and the cry of the flaring dragons fading behind it, Sansa recalled each memory- the love, the loss, the pleasure, the pain, the warmth of family and the cold of betrayal- and stored it as a pearl in the treasure chest of memories, protecting each with the instinctive fury of a she-wolf who was about to lose it all. She knew it in her bones- her loss to come. As keenly as she knew of her own existence, she was aware that the existence of what was hers would come to an end soon. This was a voyage for battle for a better tomorrow she’d been told. But years of intrigue had taught Sansa well enough to read others, this particular other she could have read even without the intrigue- this was a last voyage. In her entire life, there were only two other instances she wanted to be wrong about something and neither time had she wished harder.

‘I had thought to see you earlier at the harbour my lady.’

She turned around to see Tyrion Lannister walking towards her as he came to stand beside her watching the last remnants of their entourage vanish.

‘Is that not what ladies do in the tales, give their knights favours to wear to battle to ensure safe return? Or do you not wish for ALL of them to return Sansa?’

Sansa could hear the jest in Tyrion’s voice but the possibility hurt too keenly for her to jape back. 

‘My life has been more of a Northron horror tale of old than of the Southron tales of ladies and knights Lord Hand, you know that better than most. If my prayers remain unanswered then what good will my favours do?’

Tyrion looked at the girl…no the woman standing beside him. He had grown up with two of the most beautiful and well postured people in Westeros. Yet, Sansa Stark’s beauty was quite something else and she held herself with a straightness that would rival any Lannister’s…quite fitting for she herself was, may be is, a Lannister he mused. But his amusement throttled at the thought that as well equipped his family was at harming their own, this girl had borne the worst of that weight. 

‘I cannot vouch for the sevens my lady but surely your Northron gods would not be cruel enough to end your hearth in the same place it began? He WILL come home to you Sansa.’

Sansa looked down at her hands, ‘Perhaps he will come home my Lord. But we both know his home and heart are not with me, it was never me. HER bones rest there, he has gone home to her.’

Tyrion looked at Sansa with no small amount of sadness in his eyes. As she said that, Sansa’s usually strong and clear Lady Stark voice had become that of the meek young girl he had met in Kings Landing years back…no matter how she tried, she was still their prisoner- the Lannister mark on her had far surpassed her body and made its way into her soul. They were in her blood now and she would never be able nor want to be, completely free of them.

‘Surely you cannot still think that Sansa. After everything…he loves you Sansa. You have given him everything a man could ever want, everything that has been withheld to us for most of our lives. He can see that…can you not find it in yourself dear good sister to forgive my brother even as you believe him marked for death?’ 

Sansa eyes clouded with a foreboding darkness and she abruptly turned and proceeded to walk back towards the castle but then she stopped and called back- ‘Lord Hand you should come check on the Prince in the nursery. The king we chose has left my nephew in your care.’ She proceeded with her steps once Tyrion nodded.

After a while of gathering his thoughts, Tyrion followed Sansa’s advice and walked towards the nursery only to find his good sister standing at the door of the nursery, her hands caressing her stomach as if soothing and scathing tears running down her eyes. He quietly came to stand next to her, he gazed inside to see two young boys and a babe- the future of Westeros and the heirs to the Great Houses of Stark, Lannister and Targaryen. He watched as the eldest of the three carefully showed his little brother how to properly hold the babe under Missandei’s watchful gaze.

Though wary of her reaction to his invasion of her moment of weakness, Tyrion spoke up.

‘They seem very pleased with the new addition of our little princeling in the nursery. Leonel seems to be very good with the babe. You two outdid yourselves on that one. My father would have been terribly proud. He’s the best Lannister to be born for generations. All his kin’s perfections and none of our flaws. Tywin Lannister could not have picked a better heir if he had chosen him from the gods himself.’

Sansa was working to rid her face from any traces of tears but she flinched at the mention of her good father; her feelings on Tywin Lannister had always been a mixed bag- the man had been as kind to her as she supposed he was capable of being to anyone. And he had loved Leonel and Jaime and she supposed she had given them both to him as his heirs; for that his regard extended to her as well. She still remembers his rage at Joffrey’s cruelty towards her. But then he was also the reason she had no mother and many less brothers. 

She quickly regained her composure and nodded with the sad yet proud look on her eyes that only a mother could muster.  
‘Yes, he is very good and responsible my little lion. My babe was only a few moons past his first nameday when Lowell was born. But it was only the three of us for so long surrounded by so much violence…he learnt very early to take care of himself and his brother.’

Tyrion’s heart clenched as he remembered his own brother, the one who had protected him the best he could.  
‘Leonel is just like him. Gods if it weren’t for having seen you go to the birthing bed myself, I would doubt you had anything to do with his being here good sister. He is all Jaime.’

‘Lowell as well I believe. He has my father’s colouring but sometimes I look at him and he looks more like Jaime than even Leonel does. The same sorrowful face that had looked upon me and our babe in our chambers in Kings Landing all those years back.’

Sansa was aware that many did not believe Lowell to be Jaime’s son- his colour was not as obviously Lannister as Leonel and only Jaime and herself had known she was with child when she left Kings Landing. They thought he was Petyr Baelish’s from her time in Vale or one of the other men she was rumoured to have shared a bed with. She mused about how her reputation was now beyond repair, even though Jaime had been the only man she had ever belonged to- since she understood what it meant to belong to a man, the only man she willingly shared her bed with and the only man she’d birthed children to. ‘I guess that’s another thing Jaime and I have in common- our love and loyalty has only brought us dishonour and shame’, she thought. But she would be damned if her son had to suffer being named as anybody but his father’s son. She was curious to know what her good brother thought on the rumours. Surely, he could see the eyes of himself and his kin copied onto her son’s face?

Tyrion seemed to read her mind when he answered- ‘The boy is clearly his father’s son, any fool with eyes would be able to see that. He has Jaime’s eyes and face despite your father’s colouring. Hopefully he has Ned Stark’s love and sense of honour as well.’

‘I hope my children have my father’s love but his sense of honour and judgement were always clouded by the dictated code of the world he saw around him. I hope my children have their father’s courage to build their own sense of honour and their kin’s intelligence- so that they may always do what is right even if it does not fall under some false dictated sense of honour.’

Tyrion nodded, ‘You mustn’t judge your father’s sense of honour Sansa. Whatever he did, it was out of love. Few men in our world love their children enough to want to create a better world for them.’ 

‘Do you believe Jaime to be one of them?’ Sansa asked with shaking trepidation in her voice.

‘My brother is capable of more love than perhaps anyone in our family. I know that does not say much but his love for me should. Jaime loved me when nobody else would or rather nobody else could.’

Sansa’s eyes glazed over again but she stood even straighter than before if that was even possible and she absently put her hand to her stomach again as if easing nausea. 

‘I take it you have forgiven my brother then?’  
Sansa looked down at Tyrion with a chiding gaze- she did not wish to proceed with their previous conversation. But he continued nonetheless. 

‘You must have forgiven him otherwise you would have never taken him into your bed again and considering you are with child...’

Sansa was shocked, her womb had not thickened enough for anyone else to know of the babe in her belly. How did he…her thoughts were interrupted by Tyrion’s answer her surprise.

‘I have seen you with child before Sansa, whenever you’re anxious you tend to touch your belly with a greater frequency than you do under duress when its empty. Does my brother know that you are to give him another child?’

Sansa nods- one child for every brother she’d lost, one for every child he’d lost. But then her eyes harden- ‘He says he wants to build a better world for our children.’

‘But you do not believe him.’

‘He’s never chosen us Tyrion. Even after everything, it will always be her.’

‘Sansa, you can’t believe that my brother has gone to search death.’

When his good sister does not answer, he continues.

‘Sansa, he may love our sister but that does not exclude you from his love. He loves you and the children, you must believe that. Jaime may not be the best at voicing his feelings and may be even too dense at times to acknowledge to himself that he has them. But he loves you Sansa.’

Tyrion felt his voice rise an octave.

‘We were only ever taught love is a weakness. But my brother was the real anomaly amongst us. He craved love and affection above all else, with a fervour that neither my sister nor I matched. Perhaps because love was a rarity in both our lives and we learnt to live with as little as possible. That craving, is what our sister always manipulated in him and that is what you gave freely, despite of every one of his mistakes and the cruelties of his family towards your kin. You gave him children he could claim and love and he does. I know my brother Sansa, he left Cersei and rode North for you and the children!’

Tyrion felt desperate for Sansa to forgive his brother. She and his children were his brother’s last chance at life and to live on in death. His peace. And Jaime was Sansa’s- her home. Not being able to forgive him would poison Sansa. If they were going to build this new world on dragon fire, she needed to let it go before it became poison.

‘Sansa, I know his transgressions are countless, but please find it in yourself to forgive him.’

Sansa then looked at Tyrion and smiled before turning back her eyes towards the children.  
‘When I had to flee Kings Landing with Leonel whilst carrying Lowell in my womb, throughout my time at the Vale under Baelish’s lustful stare, being manipulated, used, having to constantly pretend, just so our children would remain unharmed- I used to think I’d have nothing but hate to give Jaime. I would be cold as steel, worse than Cersei could ever be. He would NEVER know our children, they would only be Starks of Winterfell. He would be the lone lion and I would have my pack.’

Tyrion felt more nervous and desperate at each word Sansa uttered but the calm storm in her voice warned him not to interrupt- Sansa had kept it all inside for years, she deserved some reprieve from the misery his family had given her despite of everything she had given them. Lannisters protect their own, Lannisters pay their debts, the Lannisters had failed the best part of themselves, on both accounts.

‘But when I saw him arrive as a lone ranger at Winterfell, the only thing I wanted to do was to take the children and run into his arms and cry my heart out, let his presence heal my wounds and our love heal his. But then I remembered that Cersei was pregnant and I stopped. My children would never know abandonment and inadequacies of their sire.’

She licked her lips a bit and continued as if the memory was parching her. 

‘So instead, I told him my sister would murder him before he could move if he so much as looked at my sons. I expected a smirk and perhaps a jape about how it takes two to make a babe or SOMETHING. But his resigned acceptance cut even deeper- did he care so little about his own blood?!? He hadn’t even met Lowell! But then that night, I so saw him sneaking into the nursery. I watched him watching our babes for hours, taking in their every feature, attentive to their every need. And I knew…he loves us. That terrible broken foolish old man’

Sansa fought back a sob. She thought of Tyrion as a brother now, after all that he’d done for her and her children. But she didn’t cry in front of her brothers anymore, even if she poured them her heart. That was a privilege for her sister and may be her children at times. 

‘Tyrion I have always only loved your brother. Ever since I first understood what they were- love, lust, loss, pleasure, pain, all of it has only ever been Jaime. First it was out of duty, then as the father of my child and then because he was him…absolution was never necessary. I don’t know how to be anything but in love with him.’

She smiled at Tyrion, a genuine peace had settled over Sansa’s face as she said those words. Tyrion found himself being able to stand just a little bit straighter, as if a great burden had been lifted. He realized then that he’d forgotten something- not everyone holds onto anger as a grudge, especially not where love is concerned and Sansa loved- with the integrity of a Stark and the passion of a Lannister. 

He wondered if his brother knew how fortunate he was; from the peace in his eyes when he was in Winterfell with Sansa and the children, even with the threat of the dead looming, he would wager Jaime did know and he would try his best to come back. Tyrion was sure of it. He nodded his head at Sansa in understanding before entering the nursery leaving Sansa to once again recollect whilst she watches her children…to where it all started.


	2. Songs of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wages war on everyone inside his head till...

Jaime was well into his cups. As in ‘you would be confused as to who the drunkard Lannister brother is’ into his cups by the time the bedding ceremony was called for. He had tried to recall the past week of his life but failed to remember much. The only things he did remember were unpleasant to put it pleasantly. He remembered being caught by a retinue led by Barristan the Bold himself, on his way out of the capital to join the war efforts to save his brother, he remembered being stripped of his Kingsguard cloak by that fat drunken fool they crowned king, he remembered his father’s letter proclaiming the price he had to pay for his little brother’s safety…

‘You WILL do as your king commands and marry the Stark girl and take your position as my heir. You WILL consummate the marriage and produce heirs named Lannister, or Tyrion will have more than Catelyn Stark to worry about Jaime; I DO NOT make empty threats and my eyes and ears extend well into the Red Keep. Any attempts to trick me will NOT be well received’ the letter had lovingly said. Gods! How can a man threaten his own flesh and blood to bend them to his will? Had he really that little regard for Tyrion’s life and Jaime’s will?

After what he was sure had been the most humiliating experience of his life, Jaime had gone begging to Cersei, his love and reason for breathing. He’d begged her to help him, to talk to her husband, to stop this madness! She’d only lashed out at him instead-

‘Jaime stop it! Do you think I am happy with this arrangement? I raged at Robert for hours! But then, he made sense…one of those few rare times that he does! The Lannisters cannot compromise our might just to get that little beast back! This way we ALL get what we want. Our son will be free to marry a proper southern girl instead of one with wolf blood! He is so young still. He won’t be able to stay free of the influence of the stupid girl’s cunt. But you my love, you love me and want only me. This way we can be together without ever arousing suspicion. The girl is a little fool, even worse than my husband! But she is highborn and will do well enough to carry your heirs I guess and father is SO pleased to be rid of Tyrion as his heir’, she’d said rather carelessly.

He had tried to poke holes in her perfect plan and remind her that once married he would have to leave for Casterly Rock with his new bride, hoping against hope she would see sense but then she’d dismissed him saying she’d ‘take care’ of Robert and that intolerable Ned Stark soon enough and declare Jaime (instead of their Lord father) to be Joffrey’s Hand with her ruling as Regent- even Tywin Lannister could not complain about that. Ofcourse his dear sister had thought it all through! When it came to wits and the game of thrones, HE was clearly the dwarf of the Lannister siblings. He had wanted to quip that it was SHE who was now planning on making that intolerable Ned Stark his good father! But then when he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out sounded like a child’s tantrum in hindsight. 

He had cried out how he didn’t WANT to be Hand, how he didn’t WANT Casterly Rock or to breed some silly little court fool- he only wanted her! He had begged her, not for the first time, to delay the marriage and run away with him to the Free Cities. In the meanwhile, he could see Tyrion to safety and they can take the children with them!

She’d hissed at him then- ‘Don’t be a fool! I am QUEEN! And MY son will be King after Robert. Do you think I am happy to be married to Robert? No! It won’t be any different for you!’ Her voice had softened to a lustful call of the siren after that- ‘Come now Jaime, my brother, my lover, forget all this unpleasantness. Just come to me and let me make you forget.’

Jaime had been livid, but he’d fucked her anyways. And whilst sunk down on his cock, she’d whispered in that sweet vicious voice of hers- ‘She’s just a vessel Jaime, for the future of our house and if Sansa goes out of line, we’ll destroy her- anybody who isn’t us is the enemy Jaime. And we will destroy her with all our other enemies.’ Sansa…so the girl’s name is Sansa. His stomach had felt unsettled then. But he ignored it in favour of his cock and later, drank till he retched out all unsettlements.

And then there was good old Ned Stark. The man had looked at Robert with such disdain upon receiving the ‘royal fucking decree’ that he’d thought for a second the king would cave dead under his gaze. Good. Atleast they agreed on SOMETHING- Robert that smarmy bastard! Are you happy now? Showing all and sundry that you are the one with the real power? That with one word YOU can get honourable men and powerful men to bow to you? To make a puppet of your Kingslayer good brother and best friend alike? But then, he’d bowed down to his king and instead all his rage had turned to Jaime instead. Great, just great. 

He should have just killed the fucking man when he had the chance. Atleast then his head would be severed for treason. He was getting tired of coming so close to death and not getting it over and over. That would serve Cersei right! That would serve his father right! He had wanted to rage then that it wasn’t HE who asked for Ned’s precious fucking daughter. That he could KEEP her or give her to his vicious nephew, some Northern brooder or to the fucking Septa for all he cared! Just leave him the fuck alone! But then he’d only given that man his best smirk and asked if Ned’s injuries had healed and whether he should call him father then. The king of fools had burst into laughter and Ned Stark only grimaced at him.

It only further worsened as the week went on and one of the few moments he remembered at his wedding- Ned Stark decided to play the gallant concerned father to his daughter after putting her up for slaughter at Robert’s demands. The man had grimly said- ‘I understand you may not put much value on vows Ser Jaime, but I can only hope you will not dishonour my daughter. She is young but a good girl and not deserving of the violence of men.’

Jaime had pitied the man for a second when he had started, the poor fool had no idea how to voice concerns in a courtly fashion but when he implied Jaime would brutalize his daughter, he’d lost it. For all his ill reputation, brutalizing women was not one of them. He’d seen enough men rape and brutalize their wives to last a lifetime and he certainly did not wish to add his name to the list.

‘Tell me good father, of all the ill I am sure you have heard and thought about my family, has raping and beating our wives ever been a Lannister trait people boast about?’

He had him there. Even the North knew of Tywin Lannister’s devotion to his late lady mother. 

‘You befriend and jape with our good king as he slaps and dishonours my sister right as we speak and yet it is me you think will brutalize your daughter. Do not worry Lord Stark, I do not have any intentions of touching violence upon your daughter. I only mean to taste her a little bit as is my duty and right in my marriage bed as her Lord husband.’ 

He put on a playful smirk as the man looked dumb stricken and his face became even more sullen than before.

‘Now if you will excuse me, I believe I have a new wife to attend to.’ With that he turned around and strutted back to his table to finish another flagon. 

Fuck the fat king, fuck Cersei, fuck Tywin Lannister and fuck Ned Stark! He decided that he would fuck the Stark girl tonight and make sure her moans of pleasure vibrate through the thick walls of the Red Keep all the way to the Tower of the Hand; with enough wine, hopefully he won’t have to think too hard upon it.

As Jaime came out of his reverie of unpleasant memories, he noticed that the women had already gathered around him and were all pulling at his clothes. He was drunk enough that it felt like an alright sensation, so he humoured them in their courtly japes and reaching hands; by the time he was left at his room he was as naked as his first nameday. 

As he walked into his solar, he heard a soft melodious crooning of words he didn’t understand, but the voice…

Idir aan is idir as  
Idir thuidh is idir theas  
Idir thiar is idir thoir  
Idir am is idir ait

It was like standing in the shores of a distant memory of boyish laughter. He walked towards the voice and carefully opened the door to not disturb the song. And there stood a girl, her bare back turned to Jaime, thick mass of red, flame lit hair falling down her back- his wife. 

The girl would sing, then sigh, then murmur to herself- ‘It will be ok Sansa. Just breath, everything will be alright. You are a married woman now, and a Lannister. If he sees you like this…’ and sigh again and sing to herself. 

‘She’s trying to calm her nerves then. She sings to calm her nerves’, Jaime noted. He thought it best to let her compose herself before making his presence known. Besides, her voice…he’d not been one for songs, not since he was a boy and Cersei had declared singing to be a silly habit that she did not wish to pursue (although Jaime knew it was more because she was no good at it), but there was something rare and captivating in her voice. So, he quietly entered the room and lounged down on a chair beside the bed and continued to listen to her for a while before pouring himself a cup of wine from the flagon on the table. The flagon clanked and Jaime instantly cursed himself as the singing stopped. 

Sansa anxiously turned towards the noise, half her hair sweeping from her back towards her front, falling all the way down past her navel to her hips.

‘Oh my lord! Umm…I…Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to, I mean I didn’t realize that you, I meant, I just, I’m so nervous. No! I mean, it’s just that, I know I am young and you don’t want this and I got so tensed and I didn’t wish to disappoint and I sang and who sings on their wedding night but my nerves and I couldn’t think of what to say or what to do to please you and I…I…’ 

Sansa was an incoherent stuttering mess- not like a lady at all. But before she could somehow further mess up a simple apology for not noticing his presence, Jaime started to laugh- a lot. Sansa pressed her lips together as if to hush herself and looked down clearly ashamed and started to fidget with her hands.

Jaime could not help his laughter, her nervousness was actually… sort of endearing and she spoke so quickly, he barely understood all of it. But one look at Sansa’s downcast eyes reminded him of how his laughter could be misread and he mentally cursed himself. He had no intention of hurting her in any way; he had a lot of blame to go around but very little of it fell on her. He did not want to lash out at her, as easy as that would be; nothing else in this marriage would be easy for her but he would try to make this easy. 

Jaime got off from his seat and walked towards Sansa and tipped her head up till she looked him in the eye. Bluer than the sunset sea he thought and then his gaze fell to her nose and her lips and the rest of her body. 

For the first time, he really looked at his new wife. He’d been so drunk, and distracted by his rage and Cersei looking perfect and a bit too pleased with herself- he’d barely even looked at the girl he was marrying; he’d even closed his eyes before kissing her to seal their marriage vows. He’d thought it didn’t matter. She was a child and he was uninterested. But now that he saw her, he could not deny that his wife was very beautiful- tall and curvaceous for her age, pale translucent skin, full pink lips. He had heard she looked Tully like her mother but he thought she was even more beautiful. Had he been any other man he would want her. But he was not, he only wanted one woman and her hair was kissed by the sun and not its fires. 

‘There’s no point in lingering on that thought now, better to have this done with’, Jaime thought to himself and sighed.

He grasped Sansa’s hands in his and brought them to his lips. He could hear Sansa’s breath hitch and her lips tremble.

‘It will be ok Sansa. Why do you think I would be disappointed? You must know you are beautiful and you sing rather well I think’, he asked with a teasing smile in his voice.

‘No, my lord I just meant that…I know our marriage did not occur in the most ideal of circumstances and…I had heard the queen’s handmaidens say that a man of your beauty and experience wouldn’t want to be saddled with a young girl like me’, she said in a low hesitant voice.

Ah! So, there it was- Cersei’s envy had finally reared its head. Normally, Jaime would be rather amused at her jealous antics but looking at how much of a mess Sansa was he could not help but wish his sister had directed her emotions at stopping this madness than hurting a girl who had seemed to value her approval. 

‘Well I could say that a beautiful young maiden such as yourself wouldn’t want to spend her life wed to such an old man- I have twice the years and then some on you Sansa- and am but a knight and not a prince to the Iron Throne as you had been promised. Do you find me to be a disappointment little wife?’ Jaime asked teasingly. 

He already knew he affected her much the same as he did all other women; they desired him.

Sansa looked shell shocked at his question.

‘No my lord! I think you the most handsome man in the seven kingdoms! You are so golden and fierce and you have the most beautiful green eyes and…’ 

Sansa stopped as soon as she realized what she had said and bit her lips as if to stop herself from speaking any further. Casting her eyes down from Jaime’s gaze, she blushed when Jaime gave a mischievous chuckle and pulled her closer to him.

She wondered briefly why she could never think of anything clever and lady-like to say in front of Ser Jaime. Even with Joffrey she had never been so nervous. But she supposed it was because he did intimidate her in a way the prince never had. He was the first grown man she has seen… bare and for all his years and the battles he must’ve seen, her lord husband was so fiercely handsome; it made butterflies dance on her skin and caused a deep ache inside her belly to look upon him now. And as each moment passed, her ache and nervousness only increased.

‘There it was.’ Jaime had never allowed himself to indulge in women’s admiration. But now that he was forced to, he rather liked it. Although tall for her age, Jaime still towered over her. His hands caressed her back before settling on her jutting hip bones. He smoothed his right hand over her stomach all the way to her supple breasts grazing her blush pink nipples with this thumb. He heard Sansa release a deep sigh and felt himself harden. His head screamed- ‘No! This is betrayal! Only Cersei!’ but then he rationed that it was the drunken stupor he was in, besides this was what they all wanted him to do when they put this beautiful willing girl in his bed chambers! 

He reached up to her face and caressed her cheeks.

‘And what about having to marry a mere knight rather than a prince little wife?’ He had only meant to tease her a bit with that question, to see her unravel a bit. But when she looked down as if in shame and sadness, he felt angry. Ofcourse she would be sad. The girl fancied herself in love with Joffrey. 

‘She can go to his bed if she would like, what do I care when I have Cersei’ he thought unkindly but then felt ill at the prospect of sharing his wife with his so…nephew. Gods he really was a depraved monster. 

‘Well clearly she wanted a prince and not a dishonourable knight. He can only imagine what her father must’ve told her about him.’ He suddenly let her go and moved to pour himself another glass of wine but stopped when he felt her small hand on his.

‘Please wait Ser Jaime! It is true I wanted to be Princess because…well I was told I was to be a princess wed to my prince charming. But then I was put aside…for peace my father said, to be married to you instead. I was saddened, not because I was to marry you my lord. Being the future lady of the richest great house in the realm, one that is related to royalty by marriage, it was more than I ever imagined growing up. I was saddened… to have not been good enough for the prince, to have not been deemed worthy enough… for my father to have chosen me over his friend- my father who waged war on a king for forcing his sister, did not say a word against his daughter being bartered like cattle. I am sorry you had to marry a girl who was not good enough. The heir to Casterly Rock deserves better.’

Jaime froze in his place as he heard Sansa confess to her feelings of inadequacies. He wanted to jerk her hand away and yell at her for being so foolish as to confess her insecurities to him- did she not know to hide her weaknesses when everyone was a predator? For being foolish enough to believe that HE, the disgraced Kingslayer, deserved better than the most highborn girl- the product of two great houses- in the realm. He tried to remember if Cersei had been so insecure in her youth; he came up blank. But a part of him also wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that she was beautiful and a true lady and should never doubt herself. But instead he said something utterly moronic. 

‘Then why didn’t you say anything Sansa? To your father or even the king?’ 

He knew that was the most idiotic question ever- ofcourse she didn’t have a fucking choice! She was but a girl, less than half his age! If the Lion of Lannister could be forced into this arrangement, what choice could this girl have possibly had? But recognizing that, only made him feel more of a kinship with Sansa- like he wasn’t completely alone in his compulsion and that only felt like a further betrayal of Cersei. 

Sansa was shocked at his question. She had not even thought that it was possible question the king. Heck! She had seethed in cold anger at Lady’s death, even questioned her father’s justice but had never even thought to question the King. She was but a girl and he the father of the realm. 

‘I am a simple girl of my station my lord, with simple desires and simple dreams. It is not my place to question, only to do my duty and find happiness in that if I can. I saw my prince of the tales in Joffrey because I was told I was to be his and then I was told it was you instead and I accepted that; I remembered looking at you for the first time in Winterfell and thinking that you were…like the sun. After then, whenever I read or heard a tale, I always imagined the brave honourable knight in them…to be you. I know it sounds…’

Sansa was cut off as Jaime dragged her to him and pushed her body into the nearest wall, caging her between it and his body with his hands holding her down by the shoulders, with violent speed. Sansa’s backed thudded into the stone walls so hard that she was sure there would be bruises within the hour. The sudden violence overwhelmed her and she felt unable to breathe for a second in absolute fear. Jaime’s eyes, usually soft forest green, blazed like wildfire and she was sure she heard him growl. Something about her had awoken the lion and she had no idea how to pacify him.  
‘Do you take me for a fool little wife? Do you think I do not know what people say behind my back? Do you think I don’t know what is said of my honour? Don’t you DARE mock me with your stories! I am no honourable knight of fantasies. I am the man who is about to fuck a maiden half my age despite having sworn the Kingsguard vows- disgraced and dismissed. And you know what’s monstrous? I want to fuck you Sansa. I am the Kingslayer! That’s whom you married.’

Shaking at his uncontrolled rage, Sansa winced at each of his profanities but the rawness of his emotions stirred something in her and she felt compelled to say something to appease him despite her fear. She hesitantly reached her shaking hand out to touch his cheek but Jaime moved his face away from her. But Sansa was not one to give up and she reached out again till she could feel his smooth skin on her hands. 

‘I did not mean to mock you Jaime. I am your wife Ser; how can your desire be monstrous to me? I do not care what they call you.’

Her eyes, though glistening with unshed tears of fear (and perhaps a bit of pain from being shoved against the wall so hard, he thought ashamedly), were steady in their conviction.

‘Not even if it is your own father?’ If his uncontrolled anger was not indication enough- he was clearly terribly, or worse, emotionally drunk, if his mask of indignant indifference was slipping enough to discuss Ned Stark of all people with the man’s own daughter on their wedding night.

‘From what little I understand, my father himself would have sliced the king open if he could. The mad king did grave injustices against my family. I think Kingslayer is a title of honour in this case- one that I will wear with pride.’

And that was it. In a second his anger melted and he leaned into Sansa’s touch. Unburdened. For the first time in his life since he was seventeen, Jaime felt unburdened. ‘Lions don’t lose sleep over the opinion of sheep’, his father had said. ‘Wear it like an armour’- was Tyrion’s advice. Cersei had revelled in the fear it inspired. No one had ever expressed PRIDE for what he considered to be his finest act. None had even wanted to share in its burden. This girl, his wife of but few hours, took it upon herself as if it was nothing to be the Kingslayer’s wife. 

‘How can you possibly say that? I am an oathbreaker and a Lannister Sansa; I broke a sacred oath to my king- for power they think. And it worked out quite well for my family. My sister became queen and my kin the future heirs to the iron throne.’

‘I do not think you did it for power, that’s a foolish thing to think. You could have taken it if you had wanted- the iron throne. By right of conquest, it would have been yours- you killed the king and your father took the city. The rebellion hosts were tired and diminished; your father’s army were still numerous and waiting at the gates from what I have heard. You could have taken the throne then and there, or even given it to your father. Killed them all- my father, King Robert, Lord Arryn. But you did not. I cannot claim to know you my husband…but something tells me it is not power that drives you.’ 

Her voice was steady and soothing and her words sounded like her song- like magic. Cersei was wrong. His wife was not dim-witted. She had reasoned his motivations with an ease much of her seniors lacked, explained them in a way that he’d felt to do for years. If it weren’t for her obvious softness, he would be frightened at what else she might piece together. But she was soft and her arms and body welcoming.

For a second, he wanted to tell her, confess everything. But the words wouldn’t come out; words were ammunition for the enemy. Anybody who is not us is the enemy. His father and Cersei chimed in the back of his mind. 

‘Do you not want to know why I did it Sansa?’ He asked instead knowing he wouldn’t tell her. He didn’t quite understand why he asked her that at all.

‘I do…but it is not my place to question your past. I hope that someday, you will share it with me and I will listen, always.’ 

She smiled at him then and suddenly he wanted to help her run away. He wanted to tell her that he was a terrible man. That he’d crippled her brother and that his family would ruin her if she didn’t go NOW. That he had nothing to give when she was offering honesty and affection. But instead he pushed himself into her body and kissed her. 

He kissed her lightly at first but when Sansa grazed his bottom lip with her teeth, he lost all inhibitions and pushed his tongue into her mouth asking for entrance, which was only too willingly granted. When they broke apart for air, Jaime lifted Sansa into his arms. Sansa squealed but then wrapped one hand around his neck using the other to stroke the golden curls falling onto Jaime’s eyebrows. Her eyes spoke of shyness and hesitance but her easy affection was infectious. He walked to the bed in a languid pace and deposited her on the bed taking the empty spot next to her. 

His green eyes turned a darker shade as they roamed every inch of her naked body. Suddenly Sansa became terribly aware of her own nakedness and lifted her arms to cover her breasts whilst her legs crossed to cover between her thighs. In an instant, Jaime flipped them so he was on top and pinned her hands down on either side of her head with his left hand whilst the other trailed a path down her neck to her breast. 

He traced the rosy bud of her right breast before rolling it between his fingers. Sansa gave a loud breathy moan, arching her back, pushing herself further into his touch. Having received all the encouragement he needed, Jaime kissed the junction between Sansa’s neck and shoulder, gradually latching onto her left breast suckling her tit whilst his right hand touched and fondled the other. 

Sansa felt hot all over her body and the keen throbbing in her lower belly had now concentrated to the place between her thighs and she felt herself getting wet. Jaime let go of her hands trailing his left down to her stomach drawing soft circles around her navel causing Sansa to sigh and pull his head up from her breasts into a searing kiss. He used her distraction to slowly move his hand lower from her stomach to the patch of thick ruddy curls between her legs dipping his finger into soft wet folds. 

Jaime moaned into the kiss at the feel of her wetness but Sansa suddenly broke the kiss, blushing red as an apple and crossed her legs tighter overwhelmed by this new unfamiliar feeling that threatened to drown her she felt. Jaime’s initial instinct was to force her legs apart and bury himself to the hilt inside her but then he had to remind himself to be patient and he inhaled and exhaled a long slow breath to calm his raging desires.

‘Don’t hide from me.’ He brought his hand to stroke Sansa’s face. 

‘Do you trust me Sansa?’ She nodded timidly. 

‘Spread your legs for me. You are beautiful and I want to see your beautiful cunt little wife. I want to touch you.’ 

Sansa’s face went red at his crude language and Jaime chuckled. But then she caved and parted her legs. Jaime swooped down and kissed her whilst his fingers went back to touching her folds and Sansa whimpered into the kiss. 

Jaime withdrew back to see her face as his fingers found her little bundle of pleasure and he drew lazy circles around it. Sansa’s eyes rolled back and she bit down hard enough on her lower lips to draw blood. Jaime bent down and licked the blood right off Sansa’s lips.

‘Let go Sansa. Don’t hold it back. Let me hear how you feel.’ 

Jaime then slowly entered two fingers into her cunt and Sansa lifted her back of the bed and pushed her fingers into Jaime’s hair and pulled his head to her breasts and Jaime pumped his fingers faster in and out of her.

‘Jaime! Jaime!! Oh gods…Jaime it feels...I feel so hot. Please Jaime I need…!’ Jaime groaned at his wife’s slipping control and he continued to pepper kisses all over her breasts and collar, his own erection raging with want.

‘Gods you are so wet and tight. I need to be inside you Sansa.’ 

‘Yessss my lord.’ Sansa breathed out barely even understanding the logistics of it, but she trusted him and he hadn’t given a reason not to. 

He withdrew his fingers from her cunt and looked up at Sansa’s face. She really was beautiful- a blush spreading from her face to her chest, eyes glazed with want, hair matted over her forehead from sweating in need and lips red with blood.

He pushed Sansa back down on the bed and settled himself between her legs. He positioned himself at her opening rubbing himself on her folds. When they both moaned in sync, Jaime kissed Sansa to swallow her pain as he entered her in one strong thrust, breaking through her maiden head and stilled himself to give her time to adjust. 

Sansa lost her breathe at the blinding pain which lasted momentarily before she was overtaken by the feeling of being stretched and an unfamiliar fullness in her nether regions. It was not entirely unpleasant, just a bit uncomfortable and she felt the need for some friction, like a need to adjust. 

Jaime broke the kiss to see if Sansa was alright.

‘Sansa I am sorry but…’ Before he could finish his sentence, Sansa shook her head and ran her fingers through his hair pulling him closer to her, comforting him when she was in such obvious discomfort. ‘Gods she is so affectionate. She doesn’t deserve this.’ Jaime thought to himself. But it was too late. She was wed to him and in his bed, with his cock buried inside her. 

When Sansa began to squirm, moving her hips against his, he took it as his signal to move. He tried to go slow as he thrust into her but his patience was wearing thin. She was impossibly tight and he was too drunk to take it slow. He lifted her legs on either side of his shoulders and thrust into her with a bit more abandon than he perhaps should have. But if Sansa’s moans were anything to go by, the lifting of her legs seemed to do the trick and she was meeting his thrusts, lifting her hips whilst her nails dug into his back drawing him even closer to her. 

Jaime slipped a finger between them to find her bundle of nerves flicking it till he could feel her spasm and tighten around him; she came all over his cock singing his name loud enough for the whole castle to hear. It was her best song yet Jaime decided with some amusement but soon enough his own pleasure overtook all his senses and with one last thrust burying himself, he spilled his seed deep inside her. 

He stayed still for some time, giving them both time to catch their breath, before rolling over to the empty spot next to Sansa. But then just as he was about to, Sansa reached out pulling him back atop her, with him still inside her. 

‘Stay! I mean…please my lord…just…’ 

Jaime let out a small amused laugh. His mind was too hazed and body too tired to argue with himself about his overly affectionate conduct with his wife tonight. He would have tomorrow to chastise himself and indulge in the guilt that was sure to weigh in at sobriety. For now, he rested his head on her heart, listening to her steadying beat as Sansa ran her fingers through his thick curls. 

‘Are you alright Sansa?’ She blushed and sighed out a yes. 

‘Thank you, Jaime…it was...’ She blushed even deeper. 

‘You didn’t expect it to feel good?’ he asked teasingly. 

‘No I mean…I didn’t…I didn’t expect to feel so…complete. I feel complete.’ 

Jaime had nothing to say to that as dread latched onto his heart. 

‘Sing the tune you were singing earlier Sansa; you have a gift’, he requested hoping it would keep the dread at bay. And it did. As she hummed, Jaime lulled into peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a bit more romantic than what it would be in character but a) i tried to imagine Sansa as an older person (at 15 almost an adult and definitely marriage age by westerosi standards), whose been brought up by catelyn and ned to almost adulthood and i imagine she'd be quite a bit more mature and intelligent in her own understanding of the world and would take the idea of marriage and duty VERY seriously but would still be soft and affectionate and have some fantastical notions of life and love and tales of songs and knights. to her she just married her celebrity crush. b) jaime is DUURRRUUNK. And the girl has just given him very easily what hes been secretly pining for. combine that with his reluctance to hurt women. its an easy combination. his sobriety will bring back more control but lets see if it lasts. c) the mushy stuff is needed to build a bond in a short timespan, that will atleast linger with them, before shit hits the proverbial roof. it may not be too intriguing but i tried and next will hopefully be better. 
> 
> ps. never written a sex scene so may be hella terrible but...oh well


	3. A legacy of war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I thought about quitting but then I noticed who was watching'

305 AL

Dragonstone- King Aegon VI Targaryen war counsel

Since her brother Jon (or her cousin Aegon…she tried not to fuss with it) had overcome the Long Night, Sansa had rarely found herself taking a respite from her Lady Stark (or Lady Lannister) role to indulge in her melancholy and that was starting to take a toll on her. Here she was, back again, in yet another war counsel. She just could not get herself to stay as interested, as she knew she should be, any longer. She did not want this anymore. She wanted to go home now. To Winterfell, to Casterly Rock- the home she never got to make her own, anywhere but here. Anywhere she could be a mother and raise her children in peace; anywhere she could birth her new babe without worrying of someone smothering them in their sleep. A part of her even dared to hope that perhaps, the sire would get to hold the babe after the birth. It had been years of struggle and war. It is all she has known since the cusp of womanhood and it was all her children had ever known. Was she still a stupid little girl for wanting simplicity, for wanting to just be, for praying that she can see her husband hold one babe in his arms after the birth? 

Her brother was crossing his plans with her husband and good brother- the Long Night had left the dragon queen’s army severely diminished. If they were to defeat the Golden Company, stealth was more important than brute force. 

‘The king will join the ground troops once his dragons have burnt through the elephants, the archers and the troops placed on the towers with the scorpions. Kings Landing is stuffed with wildfire beneath the surface and we do not want any of the stashes to light up; it is better to not rely too heavily on the dragons. Once the king is on the ground, the dragons will fly to the pit and then it will be our priority to ensure the king’s entry into the keep with the most skilled. The Golden Company will drop their swords to whomever pays them- whomever sits the Iron Throne. Our soldiers only need to hold them off long enough for us to go into the castle’ 

Sansa nodded with the rest of them as her husband laid down the battle plans to take back the crownlands in the name of their king Jon Snow/Aegon Targaryen the VI. From the corner of her eyes, she could see her brother nodding solemnly, his face still etched with yet another loss he had to delay mourning for the sake of the realm.

‘Aye. Once inside the castle, I will take care of the rest. Theon and a group of fifty unsullied will accompany me into the keep. A smaller group will keep the illusion of safety and give us the element of surprise in the keep’, Jon added. 

‘Your grace, if I may, my brother and I both wish for me to join you in the siege of the Red Keep. Cersei Lannister…was still our sister and as such, it is our duty to avenge her death. Greyjoy will better serve the naval with his sister to hold the troops whilst we infiltrate the castle. The false king will be paranoid and heavily guarded with the company’s best assassins. They work in the shadows and will anticipate traps. We should send in a decoy first to lure out the assassins. Then you enter in the shadows with a hundred of the unsullied. I will serve as the decoy. I have the most experience here in acting as a shadow…in being a Kingsguard- we train to fend off assassins.’ Jaime looked around the room to see everyone pondering his words before his goodbrother, in all but blood, spoke up with a hint of frustration in his voice.

‘Oh, but you are not a Kingsguard though Kingsla…Ser Jaime. You’re my sister’s husband and the commander of the Lannister army. And playing decoy is a suicide mission…but yes, your guidance has only ever favoured us in battle. If Lady Lannister raises no objections to her commander being my Kingsguard, instead of commanding her troops outside, then you may come pick up your sister’s bones’, Jon replied in an even voice already sensing his sister’s agitation. 

He had wanted to deny the Kingslayer, bash the man’s skull in for being so careless with his life for the sake of another woman. But he was king and the man’s plan had merit. He couldn’t let his own feelings get in the way in front of his men. But he would give his sister the chance to deny her husband’s foolishness. She may hide it from the world but Jon knew her just a wee bit better than she gave him credit for. He saw the momentary loss of control and a shadow of grief pass over her face at her husband’s words. He wanted to give Sansa the chance to deny the Kingslayer his request; he owed her that much. 

‘Your Grace, I can only speak for the Lannister troops; not Ser Jaime- he’s their commander by choice and fealty not by appointment. I have already pledged our fealty and our troops to you. If it pleases my lord husband to avenge Cersei Lannister, he may do as he deems fit.’ 

Sansa’s words were clear as ice and their implication even clearer- her walls were up and the rest of the world would freeze outside them, she would not let her husband’s careless words break through them, that she would not let the world see herself as second fiddle- she was Lady Lannister and no lover’s shadow could not change that in the eyes of gods and men.

Sansa’s even tone of courtesies as she straightened her straight shoulders made Jon more hopelessly sad than he already was. She’d already let her Lannister husband see the young girl inside her and he’d all but crushed her. She wouldn’t let anyone else see her be weak and petty- not even him, her brother. No, she’d be the lady of two great keeps- still as ice and hard as rock, she would never be his little sister again. He wanted to kill the Kingslayer for that. But Sansa loved him- that much was clear to Jon. And his nephews should have a father. But then his son should have a father too and the Kingslayer’s plan may be the lesser of the two suicide missions. 

He looked towards the Kingslayer to nod his approval and saw the man’s usually confident demeanour look broken and ashamed; the implications of her words dawning on his facade. ‘Good! Atleast I am not the only one who feels a bit broken at Sansa’s ice walls. Hope they freeze you to death!’ Jon thought to himself before dismissing the council.

Sansa was the first to get up and leave. She would not cry. She would not beg. She told herself that repeatedly, hoping this would be the time she would succeed in keeping him out permanently. That she wouldn’t let his careless disregard of his life for revenge for that vile beast of a woman, the life that should be hers and their children’s, break her again! ‘I am still a stupid little girl. I will never see him hold our new babe. He doesn’t want us, he still wants her. No matter how I try.’ 

She walked a little bit faster than her usual pace towards her children’s chambers- fast enough to make it to her life lines a little bit quicker but not quick enough to give away her emotional turbulence to those around her. But then she had to stop when Jaime called behind her. It wouldn’t do to let on how much his words distressed her. She deeply inhaled and exhaled in quick quiet successions and calmly turned around.

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Sansa please. You need to listen to me…can we please speak in your chambers my lady wife?’  
His voice sounded desperate but that only angered Sansa further. Had he not hurt and humiliated her enough by pledging his sword to avenge his lover right in front of her? 

‘I am listening right now my lord. I have been listening this whole time. If it is something we need to discuss in my chambers then it perhaps should wait. The children are waiting and I need to attend to them.’ With finality in her tone Sansa turned around and left as quickly. 

Jaime stood there feeling colder than he had during the Long Night at his wife’s formal dismissal. He figured it would be best to give her sometime before he explained himself. ‘Damn it Sansa! You NEED to listen to me! I will make you listen little wife, I will not let you freeze me out again,’ he vowed to himself before proceeding to the training grounds to blow some steam off.

The training ground in Dragonstone has been bustling since armies from all seven kingdoms and the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki had all gathered here in preparation of the war. Jaime felt somehow humbled by their presence. He’d fought many wars and his skill was still unparalleled but he had to admit, many of these fierce warriors came close- King Aegon VI Targaryen, Ser Jorah, the captain of the Dothraki hoard, his sellsword friend, the wench and his little good sister, perhaps the deadliest of them all; she fought to kill not to win. They were all testing skills or prepping for the wars to come. But there was only one skill test that caught Jaime’s attention and he decided to take a seat in his spot, at a distance from the fighting stage. He looked around and found to his amusement that most of the fighters had stopped their activities, amazed at what they were witnessing. Sansa was watching from the sides with the broadest smile he’d seen on her all day, his youngest (not for long though he thought with some happiness) sat at her feet as the boy of four keenly observed with excitement in his shifting green eyes. They were so perfect- his family. 

‘Sansa looks radiant when she is with the children. Even more attractive than she normally is. My good sister was meant for this.’ Tyrion stated Jaime as he took the spot next to his brother. 

‘Be careful now little brother, that is my wife and as you will remember I’m quite the jealous man.’

‘He is quite the marvel isn’t he Jaime?’

‘Marvel? It’s unnatural how good he is. It shouldn’t be like this.’ Jaime voiced with a mixture of pride and concern in his voice.

‘Is that jealousy I hear in your voice dear brother? It’s the giants blood in that of the first men- Giantsbane had said and possibly a bit of having you as a father I suppose- a prodigal son for a prodigal father. But you are right too- being so good as a child will make him cocky. I am surprised Sansa even allows him to pick up a blade at this age. A small sword, I understand but sharp none the less.’

‘I didn’t leave them with much of choice. I was not there to protect them. She has seen the consequences of not having a blade. Given what they survived, she probably figured its best he have a blade than be caught unprotected.’ Jaime lamented in his usual flippant tone but the shame and self-loathing in his eyes was not lost to Tyrion. 

‘Our king tells me Lord Lannister had insisted upon a wooden sword as soon as he could jump to the saddle. Took him less than a day to master every stance Jon would teach and the boy’s physical strength, for someone so small and lean, was astounding. ‘Bloody sharp little lion on the prowl’ he had grumbled when Leonel had somehow managed to topple a newly anointed Northern knight thrice his size with a wooden sword. The good Ser had stared at his mother for too long- I believe my nephew had said’ 

Jaime smiled- large and genuine as pride swelled in his chest but it died soon at the next thought.

‘He has an instinct with the blade no child of six should have and he’s unbelievably quick. I could just about pick up a blade at six not actually swing the little blade with any finesse. His skills will grow; skills with the blade at a young age only garners evil brother. No glory is worth that.’ 

Tyrion smiled sadly at his brother. His nephew had attracted more evil in his short life than most people did in lifetimes. He needed no more. 

They observed Leonel in silence for a while as he followed his aunt’s instruction in trying to keep the king’s sword at bay. Jon had toned down his strength training his nephew but Jaime could tell he was not quite play fighting. His son was not only dodging but leaping to attack whenever an opportunity arose without letting his guard down. Ofcourse, he missed and went back on the defence but Jaime had known pages twice his age who’d be unable to stand two fair seconds against the king.

‘It’s like watching a miniature you fight down there. It’s remarkable.’

‘Yes, they do look like me.’ 

For a moment, Jaime’s mind went to other sons, to other times. He’d never watched any of his other sons as closely. His mind wondered whether they resembled him as Leonel did, whether their eyes were as truly and distinguishably his as Leonel’s and Lowell’s were- almond and green or with Cersei’s more cat like slant? Had they been as prodigal as his son with the sword? He doubted it, Cersei’s coddling would have taken any fight out of them leaving Joffrey with only entitled cruelty and Tommen with uninhibited kindness- both cost them their lives. His thoughts were interrupted by Sansa’s jubilant cheering at their son. 

Gods she was so beautiful when she was carefree. But now her carefree smiles and uninhibited laughter was only ever directed at her children in public. In the privacy of their bed chambers Jaime had broken her walls and enjoyed his unrestrained passionate wife and her comforting warmth. But a part of him craved for the easy affection she had showed him in the earlier days of their marriage- before they ruined her; he was glad that his children still had their mother’s open and unashamed love and admiration. They would be better for it. Better than their father and their kin before them.

‘I wonder if it is my face on them that keeps their mother lov…tolerating my presence.’

‘Come now brother. Surely you know it is a bit more than that.’

‘She hates all other Lannisters, with good reason. I can’t see why I would be excluded from that list for any other reason.’

‘She doesn’t hate every other Lannister. I think she is rather fond of me... and our cousin Lancel  
I believe had endeared himself to her as well.’

‘Fuck Lancel!’ Jaime growled.

Tyrion guffawed at his brother’s childish jealousy over their dead cousin. 

‘Jaime if you really covet your wife’s affection then what the fuck where you thinking, bringing up Cersei in public right in front of Sansa? Surely you cannot be that much of an idiot brother!’

Jaime seethed at that. His family always thought he was stupid. 

‘I am not stupid! I just don’t want to hide things from Sansa. I want to avenge Cersei. I have loved her all my life and a part of me always will. She’s our sister and it is our duty. But a much greater part of me is doing this because it is the right thing to do! King Jon is my hope…to keep her and my children safe, to ensure that they grow up in a world free of violence. Haven’t they had enough of that? But I can’t say that in court now, can I? But she wouldn’t even listen to me! After everything, all she hears is Cersei...not me.’

Tyrion had rarely ever seen his brother look vulnerable and it hurt him more than he cared to admit watching his brother miserable. But he also wanted to pound his brother for this one. How could he still be stupid enough to give a rat’s flying fuck about their cunt of a sister who’d only served to destroy his life? How could he be so dense as to not see that she was still ruining what he has? No. Tyrion would make him understand why Cersei needs to go from the memories of the future of House Lannister…somehow.

‘Jaime has my dear good sister ever told you the story of how we came to know the blessed news of your first true born son’s impending arrival?’

Jaime raised an eyebrow at Tyrion and then looked back at his son fighting and shook his head.

‘Ah! I see. Even now she shelters your conscience. On the event of Myrcella’s departure to Dorne, Joffrey had taken it upon himself to violently bully his little brother for crying over his sister. Cersei didn’t say a thing- just brotherly jest she’d called it. But when Joff began to pinch the boy’s cheeks hard enough to make him cry out in pain, your sweet dutiful little wife pulled the little boy behind her and begged Joffrey to please stop hurting him, knowing full well that his cruelty would only turn to her instead.’

Jaime swallowed down the bile rising in his throat wagering what was to come next. He wanted Tyrion to stop, but then he wanted him to finish as well.

‘Joffrey got one of his thugs’ guard to slap her so hard that she fell to her knees. Then just as they were about to kick her in the stomach Sansa turned, taking the full impact on her back instead, cracking one of her back ribs. The pain must have been intense and she almost lost consciousness as I came in. Cersei just stared with a smirk etched on her face the whole time. When I insisted Lady Lannister be taken to a maester immediately, she scowled and said that a traitor’s daughter does not deserve to be called that and that she should be left to her state for trying to cause rift between brothers. Ofcourse I wouldn’t listen. I had Bronn carry her to the maester. The whole time, even in her half-conscious state, Sansa’s hand stayed on her stomach and she begged me to ensure that the babe in her belly was safe. And that is how I found out she was with child. When the maester confirmed it, Cersei flew into a rage and accused the girl who was trying to save her own son, of provoking Joffrey in an attempt to get the king to murder the heir of Lannister in the womb. If I hadn’t paid the maester to lie that Sansa had already consulted him and that he’d advised her to wait till she missed her next moon blood to announce it; Cersei had planned to have the girl confined to the tower prison till she birthed Leonel. And then…I don’t think I need to tell you what she planned to do with Sansa afterwards.’

Jaime couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like it was about to explode from the air inside. HIS son…his little lion…the only one he had been able to hold and love…had come so close to never having existed. And his wife…Cersei would have killed Sansa. He always knew that. She had tried enough times. But to be so cruel to her when she was with child- a Lannister child. Was his sister always the Mad Queen? 

‘So now you understand- it’s not about you Jaime. Sansa does not hate our sister because you love her. She hates her because Cersei because she tried to take away the very reason Sansa lives- her children. She will not listen to you for as long as our sister’s name passes your lips. She will forgive your love for Cersei, she will forgive your transgressions, but if you ever bring Cersei’s shadow into the children’s lives she will freeze you out. When you speak of our sister in court, there’s always a chance it could get back to the children- as news, as a taunt, as a jape.’

‘No wonder he HATES me. My first trueborn son…and he HATES me. And I deserve it.’ Jaime muttered, his eyes fixed on the boy as he falls to the ground and yields to his uncle.

‘He doesn’t hate you Jaime. He’s six and he’s too much Sansa’s son for that. Besides, I don’t believe Sansa would’ve ever poisoned their minds with truths. She’s too protective of you and her cubs for that.’

‘No, I didn’t think she ever would. But he hates me anyways. It’s a rather creative jape of the gods- the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms with a son whose talent surpasses his own. I could probably beat each one of these swordsmen here in a one on one fight. And yet, my own flesh and blood refuses to pick up his sword in my presence, refuses to fight in my presence. Probably hates yet another similarity he must share with his dishonourable father.’

‘Leonel loves the sword Jaime and the Lannister in him will recognise you have something to teach if you showed him,’ Tyrion said thoughtfully.

Jaime looked at his brother in confusion. How would the boy learn from him if he refused to pick up a sword in his presence? But before he could voice his confusion, Tyrion was on his feet towards the centre of the ground and Jaime moved to follow him. Upon seeing their arrival, Leonel dropped his sword immediately and quietly strode towards his mother and brother. Jaime flinched at his son’s coldness- he may look like his father but his walls of ice were as tall and impenetrable as his mother’s.

‘Your Grace! I was wondering, have you and my brother ever had the opportunity for a friendly fight?’ Tyrion asked with amusement in his voice.

Jon looked confused at the sudden question- why would Tyrion ask if he’d ever fought the Kingslayer?

‘Well my brother here has been cocky for years about being the greatest sword in the realm. I was hoping you could bring his overconfidence down a peg or two.’

Jaime laughed mentally at Jon’s widening eyes. Seems that his reputation still precedes him. The King was as good as him, even he could see that. Ned Stark’s son in all but this. With the sword, he was all Rhaegar and the prince had been glorious in the pit- all the Kingsguard knew that.

‘I can’t guarantee that I will be able to peg him down Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime’s reputation and the skills we have all witnessed in battle speaks for itself. But if he is upto it, we could have a spar. What say Lannister?’ Jon asked.

‘I live to serve Your Grace. I would be honoured to clash swords.’ The honesty in Jaime’s words were not lost to Jon and he nodded with a small smile on his face. Win or lose, it’d be a good fight. It would raise the morale and confidence of their soldiers as well.

As Jaime unsheathed his blade, he briefly looked to the side to see his wife looking at him with wide confused eyes and his youngest gleefully pulling at his mother’s skirt. His eldest looked bored and indifferent- the very image of Tywin Lannister then. But Jaime could see that his eyes were trained on his father and uncle’s sword. 

‘What is he playing at?’ Sansa thought to herself before she felt Lowell pulling on her skirt.

‘Mother! Will we see father fight Uncle Jon? They’re the best in the realm! Who do you think will win?!?’ Lowell asked her excitedly.

Sansa smiled at her younger son and pushed his dark curls from his face. She was about to answer him when Leonel spoke up.

‘We can’t tell before the fight starts Lowell. Uncle Jon killed the Night King but Ser Jaime is famed for his prowess. I have never seen him fight but he killed many whites and his military command served well in the Long Night.’

Sansa giggled at her six-year-old son’s rather adult assessment of the fight about to take place. Leonel looked up at in confusion.

‘You have seen Ser Jaime fight, haven’t you mother? And you have seen Uncle Jon, who do you think will win?’ Leonel questioned.

‘“Father” Leonel- not Ser Jaime. He’s your father. And yes, I have seen them both fight. Your uncle is incredible- there’s magic in his sword art but when Jaime fights, he’s like the warrior reborn little lion. Just like you.’ 

She couldn’t tell whether it was the softness her voice took when she spoke of Jaime as the father to her children or being compared to his father, but her son grimaced and Sansa felt her heart clench painfully. ‘I never wanted this. I only wanted Jaime and the children to know love,’ Sansa thought sadly before turning to the fight in front of her.

The children watched enthralled as the two men fought, the usually quiet Lowell voicing his amazement and panic whenever Jaime or Jon seemed to be gaining the upperhand. The boy did not know whom to cheer for. But as the fight came towards finality, it was clear that Lowell was rooting for his father as he gripped his brother’s hand and squealed when it seemed like Jaime’s sword was about to get knocked off. Leonel put his other hand on Lowell’s and patted it. The indifference in Leonel’s face was now completely gone, replaced with clear awe and excitement.

‘No. Father will win Lowell. His sword is not getting knocked off. He’s loosening his grip intentionally. He’s going to switch hands from right to left. He’s confident with his off hand!’

Just as Leonel predicted, Jaime switched sword hands, throwing off Jon’s game completely and used the king’s moment of shock to overpower him into yielding. There was a momentary silence before Sansa, Lowell, Tyrion, Brienne and Jon himself started to clap, soon followed by everyone else. In his excitement, Lowell had jumped and fell from the viewing benches on the sides but picked himself up, and rushed towards Jaime who dropped his sword to lift the little boy into his arms and kissed the top of his head. 

Sansa noticed a bunch of the soldiers, murmur amongst themselves at Jaime and Lowell’s easy affection, undoubtedly thinking of what they’ve heard about her younger’s paternity. But Sansa could not be bothered about that right now- not when her elder had been the only one sitting in the aftermath of the fight, the only one who didn’t clap.

She moved a step down to sit beside him. Leonel was looking down at his father and brother conversing. Usually, he could not keep the anger that clouded his gaze when he saw Lowell’s easy affection for Jaime. He would never voice it, not to her and certainly not to his brother- he would never do anything to take joy away from them. But now, there was something else there…admiration, fear and perhaps even desire for his father’s affection.

‘He loves you too you know? Your father loves you and your brother both. More than anything else in the world. I still remember the first time he held you- his mirror image, there was so much pride in his face and he looked to me like I had given the entire world in his arms. He picked you up so carefully, as if someone of his strength could possibly drop such a tiny thing. And he would look at you for hours some nights. You can go to him little lion. He will never hurt you if he can help it,’ Sansa spoke realizing the truth in her own words. This she could bank on, Jaime would never intentionally jeopardize their children.

‘But he hurt you mother. He left us alone. He doesn’t love you.’ Leonel said it so quietly that for a moment Sansa had doubted if he had spoken at all.

‘Yes, he hurt me. But he never left us intentionally. Things were complicated my love. But he’s here now, has been for a while. He’s here because he loves us.’ Sansa rubbed her stomach lightly as she continued. ‘He loves all of us Leonel. Whatever problems your father and I may have, love is not one of them. You should not keep yourself from him because of me. Nothing would make me happier than to see you with your father as Lowell is.’

Leonel looked at Sansa wide eyed before nodding and jumping down from his seat and walking towards his father and brother. Jaime watched his eldest walk towards them and put Lowell down from his arms. Leonel stood in front of him, green meeting green momentarily before Jaime’s eyes fell to the ground. But then Leonel reached to wrap his arms around Jaime’s waist and the older man fell to his knees, pulling his sniffling son into his arms. His heart was so full of joy that for a moment he was sure this was all a dream and that he would wake soon to an empty bed and his son would still hate him. But when he felt the boy’s tears on his shoulder, he knew it was real.

‘It’s alright son. I am here. It will be ok. You are such a strong boy Leonel. I am so proud of you. You must be strong now. Take care of our family. I am going to fight in Kings Landing for your uncle and you must protect your mother and brother.’ Leonel nodded into his father’s shoulder before breaking the embrace.

‘Will you teach me to fight with my off hand if you come back?’ Leonel asked excitedly.

Jaime briefly wondered if he should tell his son of the dangers of war but then he remembers that his son said ‘if’ and not ‘when’. Ofcourse. What else could he tell his son of war that he hadn’t already experienced? Death was a part of war and all men must serve and all men must die- their aunt had whispered it enough times in their ears for them to know and remember that. So, Jaime nodded his approval instead.

‘Leo! Leo! Did you know that father was the youngest knight to be in the Kingsguard? And he fought the monster called the Smiling Knight?’ Lowell asked excitedly.

‘Yes Lowell, mother told us that the first time I picked up a sword. Remember?’ Leonel replied.

Jaime was taken aback then. He was confident that Sansa would never say anything bad about him to the children. She wanted them to love and respect him- for his and their own sakes. But he had assumed that she just never spoke of him much to them.

‘Your mother said that Leonel?’ Jaime couldn’t help the question that slipped out of his mouth.

Leonel nodded, ‘Yes, mother says you are like the Warrior of the Seven when you fight and she’d said that I am a good big brother just like you are to Uncle Tyrion and that you love us.’

Jaime smiled then and turned to meet Sansa’s blue eyes from across the grounds. She loved him, even after everything. Her eyes were smiling despite being glossed over from unshed tears and he wanted to run over and take her in his arms, tear her clothes apart and love any pain he’d ever brought her away, till every moment he had been harsh or had pulled away or had left her alone, was gone. He wanted her so much at that moment and had to wonder if she was always this breathe taking or if he was just seeing her more clearly than he ever had before. She was always beautiful but in this moment Jaime could not imagine having ever wanted anyone other than her in his life. 

His thoughts were interrupted by his sons demanding he tell them all about the Smiling Knight whilst they break their fast. He once again looked to his wife to see Sansa simply smiling and nodding towards them- they could wait, their children could not. Jaime lifted Lowell with his left, Leonel holding his onto his right arm, he sought Tyrion out to join them- the four exited the training grounds, excited and enamoured in their Lannister kinship. 

As Sansa watched her little family leave, she felt overwhelmed by the love she felt for them. She tried to think of any other love in her life that she’d felt quite so keenly and guiltily concluded that- even for her parents and siblings, she never felt anything so strong. She loved them and would’ve died for them but she lived for her children. And Jaime…

‘You did good with them. All of them I think. They should have some time with their father before he dies.’ Sansa was a little startled at the sneak attack.

‘I thought he was not on your list. Should I be worried?’ Sansa tires of Arya’s game of faces and threats towards Jaime at times, but she appreciates her sister’s honesty nonetheless.

‘No. I would rather my nephews don’t have to scatter for pieces of their father’s face to keep his image alive in their memory. It’s sad and tiresome. But he did design a suicide mission to avenge that bitch I killed, so I assume he’s ready for death. A shame, if I’d known he would be so eager to join his sister perhaps I’d have included him in the list,’ Arya said nonchalantly.

‘Don’t say that aloud!’ Sansa hissed.

‘Why not? It would stop him from going to Kings Landing on suicide parole. He’d go as a commander instead of a Kingsguard’ Arya inquired. 

‘No, it wouldn’t. He’d go anyways- to safely collect her bones. No matter what I do, she’ll always be with him. But she will NOT cause more discord in my family’

‘So, the Kingslayer is still family?’ 

Sansa looked down at her hands, fidgeting, not sure what to answer.

‘He was…is my husband Arya. When I had said my vows, I meant every word. I meant to walk every mile of my life with him and nobody else. I don’t know if he meant the same but I know he tried to. He walked with me and then suddenly changed course. Circumstances made it so. But do I blame him for that? Do I call him unfaithful for loving her? Do I blame him for loving me? Do I blame him for her being so vicious? Do I blame him for caring for the children who came before me or for getting children on me after? Do I blame him for failing to always be there or for being strong enough to always find his way back? The list is endless but I find that I don’t hold any of it against him. But still our relationship broke and I don’t know what new name to give a broken old relationship.’

‘Maybe it does not need a name. Broken or whole, he’s your lover. Regardless of marriage or children or anything else- you love him. That’s enough. It’s clearly enough for the two of you; the babe in your belly is proof of that.’

Sansa looked at her sister in surprise.

‘You two were about as discreet as Jon and the Dragon Queen in Winterfell…well to the trained eye at least. And we bleed approximately around the same time and you haven’t bled for three moons; not since Riverrun.’

‘Are you disappointed?’ Sansa asked with some trepidation.

Arya shrugged, ‘You two seem to make good children.’ 

Sansa suddenly hugged her sister, causing Arya to freeze momentarily before she relented and relaxed into her sister’s hug.

‘I will go with him Sansa. He may be the better sword but I play the game of faces.’ Sansa sniffled into her sister’s shoulders, feeling relieved that her family didn’t hate her for loving Jaime.

NIGHTFALL

Tyrion had rarely ever felt pity for his brother- after all he was the pitiable one, the monster of Casterly Rock. But it seemed that for all he had in his life, Jaime could not hold onto one thing without letting the other go, each loss taking a bit of him with it. He couldn’t be their father’s son without losing the Kingsguard, couldn’t be Cersei’s brother if he was Tyrion’s, couldn’t be Cersei’s lover if he was Sansa’s husband, couldn’t be Cersei’s children’s if he fathered Sansa’s, couldn’t love a Stark girl if he was a Lannister. Ofcourse most of it was his own doing, but even he had to admit- whatever little Tyrion had in his life, he had it- fully, having sacrificed nothing for it. His wit was a gift from his father, he never had to let go of anyone or anything to have the love of his brother, his good sister or their children, he could love Tommen, Myrcella, Leonel and Lowell all the same and nobody would question him on it, he never had to stop being a Lannister to serve the Targaryen queen- that was his father’s legacy. Now, Jaime had his sons but had lost Sansa’s ears. 

‘Tyrion, you are far cleverer than I, you are Hand to the king, you made my son see some worth in me, tell me, how do I get her to listen if she won’t even look at me? She had promised to listen to me. On our wedding night, she’d vowed that she would.’ Jaime’s desperation (and drunkenness) was clear in his tone. He would do anything at that moment to make Sansa listen to his plea for love and forgiveness- to explain, whatever the hell was the explanation, why he would bring up Cersei in such a manner right in front of her. 

That has always been Jaime’s problem- he acts knowing he will have to bare grave consequences, yet he secretly and desperately craves absolution. Sansa was his absolution. He had often wondered if his good sister knew the kind of power she could’ve yielded over his brother if she would manipulate just that. A part of him would wager- no, she has no idea. Else their marriage would not be at this point. Cersei wouldn’t have stood a chance after all her betrayals if Sansa chose to manipulate Jaime in that manner. Yet, another part of him thinks she DOES know, that she CHOOSES not to manipulate his weaknesses as he’s seen her do to countless others. ‘Littlefinger has taught her well but he could not teach her to not love as completely as she does my brother.’

‘And how many vows have you made to her dear brother, that have been broken time and again in your marriage?’ Tyrion asks pointedly and watches as Jaime’s gaze falls. ‘From where I stand, I do not see you in any position to demand that she listens. I cannot help you here brother. You should know her emotions better than me. You must figure out this one by yourself I’m afraid. Stop drinking and go to bed; sleep on it and you may just say the right words before you leave on your death quest.’

‘I do NOT wish to die Tyrion. Not when I have so much to live for. You are right. I have broken many of my promises to Sansa. But I want to make up for lost time. I have two sons I can claim as my own and yet I have never been able to see my seed swell inside Sansa, never experienced my children kick in the womb, never saw their first night cry, their first step, their first laughter. Cersei warned me off our children and I thought I didn’t care enough to try; even Robert saw more of them than I did. And Sansa…well I fucked up and our circumstances didn’t help. But I had promised Sansa when she told me of her pregnancy with Lowell that I would be there through all of it, that we would have many more- enough children to fill up Casterly Rock and I would be there with her through it all. I couldn’t keep the promise with Lowell but I mean to keep it for th…any other children she wishes to have with me if I should return. I want to give her a home filled with joy. I KNOW she still loves me and I want her…I want her to know that there has never been a moment since we parted when she was not in my heart.’

‘Jaime…you fucking fool, if you want all that then why this rage to be the hero? Why take such a risk? By all means, join the King in his quest, lead his men to victory, but to be a decoy? That’s asking for trouble brother.’

‘You don’t understand Tyrion. Sansa is not the only vow I have broken. I didn’t give a shit about the promises I broke to Aerys or Robert or Joffrey- they were shit stains on humanity and wearing the white cloak for them tainted me, not the other way around. But there was a prince I would have honoured the white cloak for…’

‘Prince Rhaegar…’ Tyrion said in surprise. 

Jaime nodded.

‘I still see the red stained Lannister red of Elia and her children…his voice- ‘I leave the Princess and my children under your protection Jaime’- in my dreams, they would turn into Sansa and my children, the same red spilling out of the Lannister cloak I’d cloaked my wife in at our wedding, the same cloak she must’ve put on Leonel when he was born, the same smug satisfied smile on Joffrey’s and Cersei’s and the false king’s face as had been on Robert’s when he saw the corpses. I see King Jon dead and Rhaegar’s voice reminding me of my failures. My children will die unless Jon Snow or Aegon VI Targaryen…Rhaegar’s son sits the throne. I will not let that happen brother. Even if it means I never get to keep my promises to Sansa. King Jon is my last chance at honour.’

‘Then you know what to tell Sansa Jaime…tell her the truth. Force her to listen if you must. Don’t die letting her think that it was all for Cersei. Go brother. Before it’s too late. If anyone can understand nightmares, its Sansa Stark.’

Jaime nodded and immediately took leave of his brother to find his wife.

He walked towards her chambers and was shocked to find it unlocked and completely unguarded. The wench was not there; Sansa was expecting him. He carefully walked into the chambers, in case his wife was sleeping. The night lamp was lit, albeit dimly, and the glow reflected like summer on Sansa’s skin and fire on her hair. She had taken to sleeping naked, with a thin blanket since winter waned and she entered three moons of in pregnancy- the babe made her blood run hot. She was curled up on her side of the bed, leaving half of it empty for him. ‘She is still awake, my she-wolf is just pretending to sleep,’ Jaime thought. She always curled into his side when she was asleep. 

He stripped off his clothes and slipped underneath the thin blanket pushing himself close to Sansa’s body and hiding his face in her hair. Jaime kissed her temple, the side of her face and her neck before bringing his lips to her ears.

‘Sansa I know you are awake. Please talk to me.’

His wife didn’t stir.

‘If you will not speak then listen to me Sansa. You promised you would always listen. I must do this for the children Sansa. Your brother must sit the Iron throne if our children are to be safe. I am doing this for the new brighter future the babe in your belly represents. I will not come back with Cersei I promise you Sansa. This is not all about her…Nothing about me since I wed you has been all about her.’

His wife stirred then. With unexpected quickness, her arms circled around his neck and she pulled him on top of her, his body pressed into her warmth, her blue eyes staring into his green.

‘I don’t care Jaime. I don’t care why you are doing this. I don’t care for whom. I don’t care if you bring Cersei’s ghost back to haunt me forever, as long as you come back. You must come back to us. I am the Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock, blood of the Kings of Winter run in my vein. My children are lion and wolf. We can withstand a thousand ghosts now, as long as you are there to help us stand them.’

She was crying now and Jaime moved his hand to wipe her tears but she caught his in hers.

‘Sansa I…’

‘No. Listen to ME. I don’t care what the world thinks about you or of me for loving you. I have fought and won the battles for my home and my rightful place but I would sacrifice it all for you. I lost the battle of my heart to you long before I cared for any of this and if I am to lose to someone, I am happy that it was to my heart…to you. So, as long as you always come back to me, I do not care what comes with it.’

Jaime was at a loss once again. His heart swelled with pride at his wife’s unwavering love and his body stirred with desire for her. His manhood became unbelievably hard with each word that passed her lips and all he wanted to do now was bury himself in her and drown out the world. Words be damned. She was much better at those than him anyways. He could only show her. Sansa took the hand she had grabbed earlier and brought it to her breast, sliding it all the way down to her stomach to where their babe rested. He caressed the expanse of it and her eyes closed at the pleasure of his touch. Jaime was fascinated by her stomach. It was not yet large to the naked eye, but there was definitely a hardness to it that had not been there earlier. 

‘It’s going to be a girl you know, I can feel it, just like I knew with the boys.’ Sansa said quietly. ‘Terrible things happen to girls whose fathers die Jaime. Look at what happened to me, to Arya, to Princess Rhaenys, the Dragon Queen, Myrcella after King Robert died, even Cersei after Lord Tywin. You must come back so that terrible things don’t happen to our girl Jaime.’

He kissed her then, more passionately than ever before. He wanted to devour her. Remember every bit of her because nothing about her was imperfect. Because he would try his damn best to come back to this. As he kissed her neck, her stomach, suckled her breasts, lapped at the honey of her cunt and drove his painfully hard cock into her over and over till they were both raw from the pleasure- that is what he promised himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.)   
> So sorry for the late chapter everyone but this bit was particularly difficult for me to kind of write- angst is a must in any ASOIF romance given the epic proportion of shit that goes down in this world when people fall in love. but pulling it off tastefully is hard without seeming like its focusing too much on just interpersonal relationships than events. but rn the two points of the story in 298AL and 305AL respectively, where on one hand it is build up of the chemistry between characters and the other end is showing the resolution. As we go back and forth, i promise to include as much intrigue and events as my brain is capable of bringing.  
> 2.)  
> Jaime has both hands in this story if that was not clear. I cut out this major life changing event in his life because it seems almost to easy to have him change past that point. other major canon events will all happen but for jaime (though i LOVE his storyline evolution, including chopped hands in the book) i wanted to see how different faces and spaces around him shift his perspective.  
> 3.)   
> i suck at wars, battles, swords- pretty much most things in this genre that i enjoy watching on tv, i have no talent for. so if anyone would want to collaborate on the action, i'd be SO down.  
> 4.)  
> I will be aiming for updates per week depending on chap length and my job :)


	4. The Kingslayer's Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She'll be yours at 2 in the morning and at 2 in the afternoon the following day.  
> She'll kiss you where it hurts and until it hurts. And thats important.  
> Someone who not only knows how to turn you on, but also knows how to  
> treat you right is worth a little something"
> 
> read and review! there are notes on my process below!

Blood…that’s what he saw. Lannister red cloaks soaked in blood, begetting a queer richness to the rich crimson. There was brown hair peeking out of the cloak and he rushed to see who it was. There was just so much blood; it had soaked through the cloak and was now pooling around the floor. The stench of sex, shit, gut, salt and iron stank up the whole place. He slowly began to unravel the cloak. The cloak kept on stretching the more he unravelled it seemed and the blood just kept on pooling. Suddenly, Cersei walked in front of him, barefoot and naked as her nameday and sat down right next to him on the pond of blood.

‘Come now Jaime, leave this be. Come be with me brother,’ Cersei said as she fiercely grabbed his blood-stained hand and pushed it against her cunt and moaned at the contact. ‘Can you feel my desire for you Jaime? Come make love to me brother.’ 

Jaime pounced to kiss his sister fiercely, blood dirtying both of their skins when suddenly he heard a cry. It was coming from inside the bloody cloak.

‘Jaime! Jaime! Save me please! Look at what they have done to me? Jaime please!’ That voice…Jaime knew that voice. From childhood games of cards by their mothers’ side to the cyvasse played in his early days in the Kingsguard. 

‘Elia?’ Jaime tried to get away from Cersei’s embrace but she held him tight. Pressing her hips into his cock, right where she wanted him. ‘Let it go my love. Think only about me.’ But the noise only got louder and louder as Jaime pushed his cock into his sister. Not being able to take it anymore, he ripped himself away from Cersei’s warmth and ran to the voice from within the cloak. When he uncovered it, the brown of the hair was replaced by spun gold. 

‘NO!!! NO!!! No, come back to me my love no!!!’ Jaime screamed and suddenly the blood began to drown him. He woke up, startled and shaking with sweat and anxiety. 

He felt disoriented and heavy-headed; unsure about where he was. And the blood…he looked down to see blood staining his sheet. Not a pool, just a smudge but he fixated on it. His mind blocked off to thoughts for a few moments when he suddenly feels the warmth of a hand on his back. Instinctively, he turned around and grabbed the throat of the transgressor intent on choking the life of whomever was there for the kill, only to realize that the person he was choking was but a young girl…his young girl to be precise…his wife Sansa…Sansa…who was sputtering and heaving and her nails were sinking into his forearms to get him to stop. Immediately, he loosened his grip and moved his hands to her side, breathing heavily as she tried to catch her breath. 

‘You should never sneak up on a soldier like that girl!’ He reprimanded, the volume making Sansa flinch. 

‘I am sorry my lord *cough* *cough* you were screaming in your sleep *cough* *cough* and I got worried…are you alright?’

Jaime quirked his eyebrow in confusion then. He had felt such indignant rage at her father’s insinuations that he would harm her and yet in one night with his wife, he’d already tried to kill her. And somehow, here she was asking if he was alright in the aftermath of a nightmare. The girl must be touched.

‘Are you mad girl? I nearly just choked you to death and you are asking if I’m fine? Go to sleep and don’t do that again.’

Despite his short words, Sansa smiled softly and slowly stroked her fingers through the matted curls falling on his forehead before smoothing her hand across his cheek. 

‘Sansa. Please just…don’t. I just tried to strangle you, you don’t need to comfort me for that.’ When her hands wouldn’t budge on their own accord, he contemplated forcefully moving them. But…he couldn’t. Not after what he’d just done. So, Jaime sighed and leaned in to her touch instead, wondering why he found it so difficult to rebuff her touch when he’d never cared for anyone’s touch other than Cersei. 

‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I am fine. But you…you seemed so distressed.’

‘It was only a bad dream Sansa. Nothing you should concern yourself with,’ Jaime said dismissively. 

‘You don’t have to tell me about it Jaime. I only wish to give you comfort. Whatever you need, I am here for you.’ 

Jaime liked the way his name sounded on her tongue- eager yet hesitant. Like she was doing something forbidden; it made him want to smile and be mischievous. He hadn’t expected her to…affect him.

When he’d agreed to the marriage, his original intention had been to consummate the wedding and bed her occasionally and make himself scarce. He wouldn’t even have minded much if she took a lover down the line, after giving his father the heir and the spare required. But now, only a night in…maybe the wine was still in his system, he couldn’t tell, but the idea of her taking a lover, offering the same comfort to someone who wasn’t him…it bothered him. 

‘Do you know how to comfort a weary soldier little wife?’ Sansa gazed into Jaime’s eyes and nodded before wrapping her legs around her husband’s waist and pulling him flush against her, his head resting against the crook of her neck. Jaime groaned at the contact, feeling his cock stirring against her thigh and pressed his hand to cup his wife’s buttocks. Sansa smoothed her fingers down his back, her nails softly raking over his spine, spreading a familiar warmth through his body.

‘Whenever I used to have a nightmare as a child, my mother would tell me a story of a happy place, under the blue skies, where there are no tears and no unhappiness. There is a field of dreams far beyond the reach of most mortals where there is no judgement or rules, only goodness and love and beauty. I want to take you to the happy place Jaime. You don’t have to tell me about your nightmares; will you tell me about your happy place?’

In Cersei’s arms, back in Casterly Rock, knowing my little brother is safe somewhere in the castle. He couldn’t tell her that though.

‘Well I’m quite happy between your legs right now, I would be happier if I could be inside you but I’m guessing there is still soreness from losing your maidenhead. I don’t want to be rougher than necessary with my little wife.’

Sansa blushed and playfully hit Jaime on his arm. 

‘Ouch! What? You asked me for my happy place girl!’ Her eyes softened then and she ran her fingers over where she hit him, as if this tiny slip of a girl could hurt him but he revelled in the affection nonetheless. 

‘Fine! Let me tell you mine, it’s in a field of snow around White Harbour, where unlike any other flower, the blue rose blooms in the first snowfall, for only three days. But in my thoughts, its bloom is forever. It is majestic and beautiful- the sea and its winter roses. The most beautiful sight of the North. It kind of reminds me of us’. She continues her story as she feels Jaime relax all his muscles and smile against her neck. ‘You are the sea of the sunset, where the summer ends, and I was always meant to be your winter rose…to brings bloom in your life- from now till the end of my days…’ She stops when she realizes that her husband had fallen asleep and follows suit. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT MORNING

Jaime woke up at the crack of sunrise with a pounding headache; a condition that had become rather staple over the past week. But what had not been staple was waking up with a girl wrapped around him…atleast not a wife wrapped around him. He carefully disentangled himself from her and sat up. Jaime blinked as flashes of his wedding night began to replay in his mind and all the guilt he had kept at bay the night before came crashing. Cersei…he wanted Cersei…but…

It had been a queer sort of experiment he supposed. And now he knew- he could very much fuck other women and enjoy it. His mind screamed that it was betrayal of the grossest kind. He had betrayed himself in his own body, for Cersei was his other half. Cersei had never enjoyed Robert’s bed but Jaime had enjoyed Sansa’s. Even if they all pushed him into it, it would be seen as betrayal…gross betrayal. But it hadn’t felt like betraying himself last night. It hadn’t been the all-consuming passion or the scathing love and anger that was Cersei. But it had been…well he certainly enjoyed having a tight young cunt around his cock he supposed…and it…felt so damned good to be with her. Last night, was like a splash of cold water on his face on a Dornish summer day. Unlike what he had assumed, Sansa Stark was not dull; she was soothing. But now he was sober and he wanted to burn, he wanted Cersei.

He glanced backwards to see his wife sleeping curled to her side, thick mass of pure copper waves spread across her back and the bed, thighs stained with his seed, lips swollen and stained with blood, marks of his kisses sitting high on her milky tits. ‘Those would be difficult to hide in any dress. Wonder what dear good father would have to say about that…’ He thought rather unkindly but shook his head at the thought. ‘I don’t want to try hurting Sansa, she’s a good girl and she deserved better. If there are Gods, for all the humiliation he’s brought on the woman I love, my sister- there will be a special hell that Robert will share with me for utterly ruining this girl’s life.’ He sighed then but went back to raking his eyes over the girl. 

She didn’t take much space- was happy to accommodate him however he wanted. He’d never really shared a bed with anyone for an entire night. He was selfish about his space and had been dreading having to share it for three days. But if someone is as easy as his little wife, he supposed he didn’t mind. 

Instinctively, his hand reached out towards Sansa’s hair and felt the soft waves between his fingers. Then he saw it- bruises forming across her back and finger marks on her delicate little neck- and he remembered. He’d attacked her and she just took it in stride- like it was nothing. Whatever he gave her- discomfort, anger, lust- she graciously accepted. Had she thought he’d be worse? Would beat her or be cruel to her? Had her father prepared her for the worst? Was everything she did just a clever ruse? What was happening? Only one answer came to his mind- ‘anyone who isn’t us is the enemy’. He pulled his hand away from Sansa, got off the bed and bolted as fast as possible. He needed to find Cersei. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Sansa was more excited about this tourney than she had ever been before- that was saying a lot since it had been her dream to be a woman of court and attend tourneys since childhood- the knights, the showmanship, the ladies giving their favours, the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty- it was all so fantastic. As she bloomed towards coming of age, the giddiness about it had waned but her love of the sportsmanship and valour had remained. And this was her first tourney as a married woman and her lord husband was not only competing but was one of the men most likely to win. It filled her with a queer sense of pride and a deep longing in her belly that made her flush. 

She was still in awe that she had somehow ended up married to a famed warrior such as Jaime Lannister and Sansa was not sure what to think of her new husband. He was handsome in a way she’d always thought unattainable to her and she constantly found herself fumbling for words like a little girl in his presence. Truth be told, his beauty dazzled her but it intimidated her too. A lot about her new husband intimidated her. He was bawdy and improper; he’d teased her relentlessly with his cursing and teasing the night before and made her flush but it had also excited her. He was fiercely volatile in a way that both frightened and stirred her: quick to lash out in anger but just as quick to give into her comforting touch- almost child-like. He was a domineering yet generous lover; her marriage bed had brought her such pleasure but it had been overwhelming. 

Despite it all, beyond her duty and desire to be a good wife, Jaime Lannister made her heart feel warm and she couldn’t help but desire to feel like she had last night- like she had never been looked upon till he looked upon her, like she had never been heard till he heard her sing. She was his now, till her end and she felt fiercely protective of this new feeling…of belonging. 

The thought brought a smile to her lips as she dressed herself in a summer gown of Lannister crimson- the colour complimented her better than she thought. She looked beautiful but her hair- well by herself, she could only manage to tie it in a lose single braid. As was customary, her Septa and the handmaiden who usually helped her dress, had left her to her own devices for the first three nights meant to be spent in her lord’s chambers; she wished it would be longer. She wanted to know her new husband keenly. But propriety dictated that she must have her own chambers and was only to be allowed in her husband’s when he summoned. 

She wondered briefly, if Jaime would allow her to remain in his chambers. Despite his warmth the night before, she did not know if he would want her presence beyond the occasional bedding to produce children. He had left abruptly and without a second glance in the morn when he’d thought she was sleeping and there had been something in his eyes- a haunted confused look as he readied himself. Perhaps he wasn’t used to a woman in his chambers and wouldn’t want her as a constant. The thought pained her. She wanted to love him but she may never get the chance. Sadly, she looked around the chamber soaking in each bit of the space, the place that represented her husband in its simple male beauty. With a final sigh, she finished dressing and slowly made her way to break her fast at the tourney ground with her family.

Sansa was already a bit late. She was meant to meet her father and sister at the Tower of the Hand but found that they had already walked ahead leaving Septa Mordane behind to escort her. Sansa was having a little bit of difficulty walking with her usual good posture; the ache between her legs still burnt slightly but she had decided to rather be late than seem ungraceful- she was Lady Lannister now after all. But now that the tourney was about to begin she had taken to running with a limp, much to her Septa’s chagrin, who fell behind. She wanted to see her husband before he mounted his stead. Just to wish him luck, even if he’d still be jousting with his sister’s favour. 

The Queen had told her at the wedding feast to not expect Ser Jaime to take her favour as he considered his sister his lady luck. Far be it for her to deprive him of any luck he needed to win- even if he gave the crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty to his sister. Sansa had not minded in the slightest. She only wanted him to win. In her rush to reach, she’d been completely blind-sided and crashed into someone in the halls.

‘Watch where you…’ The boy Sansa crashed into had dropped the obscene number of things he was carrying- a full set of armours, empty wine flagons and a few scrolls. She had no idea it was even possible to carry so many things at a time. She’d certainly never seen her brothers or Theon carry so much. Sansa picked herself up, glad for her dress to be free of any spots of remainder wine that may have spilled out of the flagons, and faced the man she had toppled in her carelessness. But before she could apologise, a squeak escaped her lips as she saw a younger (but perhaps a little less handsome) version of her husband sitting on the floor amidst the mess, cursing to the high heavens under his breathe. 

‘This must be Jaime’s cousin! What was his name now? Loren…no…Lumel…no no…what was it? Lancel! The king’s squire he must be! The poor man! What an abhorrent chore it must’ve been to balance so much! And I ruined it all! What a terrible way to meet family!’ Sansa thought.

‘I am so very sorry my lord! This was completely my fault! I was not looking in a rush!’ Sansa babbled out her apology, trying to help Lancel gather the scattered items on the floor.

‘Leave it be girl! Just, let me gather my things and watch where you are going next time!’ Lancel replied rather rudely to her apology. He had no patience for a litany of courtesies and dumb careless girls further botching up his already fucked up task. Gods! They must all think him a fucking idiot, a simple bloody errand boy, rather than a Lannister of Casterly Rock, who couldn’t even succeed in a simple errand! He shouldn’t even have to do such errands! He’s a squire to the King, not a lowly servant who fetched wine from the kitchen! Gods if it wasn’t for the Queen and his desire to be like his cousin Jaime, he’d have fled this fucking shithole of a city. He pushed himself up on his left hand, only to wince at the burning sensation on his palm where blood had pooled. It seemed to be that the girl he’d bumped into had also noticed, for she squealed and was next to him in an instant.

‘Ser you are hurt!’ 

The girl took his hand in hers and looked at his blood-stained palm. Her brows were scrunched in concentration as she carefully pressed her handkerchief and her eyes- blue of the clearest summer sky, were soft with concern. She was breath-taking in her face and form, and her voice…it sounded like the soothe of the sunset sea. He wondered who she was- her face seemed familiar but lately he’d been so caught up with…things, that he had barely noticed the women around him. For a second, he felt his age and wondered what it would be like to just take this girl and leave to Lannisport- be free from this stinking hell hole and the rats’ game that was power play in Kings Landing.

‘Sansa! Lady Lannister! Are you hurt child?’ came the voice of an old Septa. 

‘Oh, Septa Mordane, I am quite alright but cousin Lancel- he’s hurt because of my carelessness. We must get a maester here. He must’ve been cut by the armour- the wound will need cleaning.’

‘Ah! So, that’s why she looked so familiar- Lady Lannister, cousin Jaime’s young new wife. Ofcourse she is. Everything worth coveting in this world belongs to cousin Jaime, why should this be any different? Stop staring Lancel you idiot! He will probably kill you if your stare lingers so. Or maybe he wouldn’t care…’ Lancel interrupted his own line of improper thoughts when he noticed that her Septa had spotted his gaze and was now scowling at him. He quickly withdrew his hand from Lady Lannister’s.

‘My Lady, please do not be alarmed on my account. This is nought but a scratch- as the King’s squire it is absolutely nothing to worry about. I thank you for your concern, we are lucky to call you family,’ Lancel bowed and smiled his most charming smile. Sansa smiled back and he felt his heart beat just a tad bit harder.

‘I promise to not worry, if you promise to see a Maester regarding your wound and henceforth call me Sansa, Ser Lancel. We are close in age and I would quite like to have a friend in my new family. Friends?’ Sansa extended her hand towards Lancel who nodded and gently shook her hand before turning back to his task. 

‘We are close in age, certainly closer than her and cousin Jaime. Why couldn’t the King have wedded me to her instead? I am a Lannister as well and she is…nice.’ Lancel thought with a goofy smile on his face. When he looked back to get one last glimpse at her she was already heading through the door towards the tourney. Before he could gather his thoughts, he heard his own voice.

‘Sansa!’

‘Yes, Ser Lancel?’ She turned around with a smile grazing her lips.

‘Just Lancel, my lady. My cousin is lucky to be wed to you.’

Sansa’s smile broadened and a beautiful blush tinted her cheeks. Lancel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a blush. Sansa nodded her gratitude at him before walking through the door with her Septa.

When Sansa reached the grounds, her family were already seated by the Royal family, breaking their fast before the tourney began. Sansa quietly walked up to the table and curtseyed everyone before taking her seat in between her father and Arya. She was glad that Joffrey had already broken his fast and was now in his lessons with Maester Pycelle and wouldn’t join them till much later. Since their betrothal ended, their friendship had come to an awkward end. Now, whenever they saw each other, there was a queer look that would pass the prince’s eyes; the look made Sansa terribly uncomfortable in her own skin. 

Piling on some breads and salted butter on her plate, she noticed that the King was already well into his cups laughing as if he’d heard a bawdy jape instead of whatever story the little princess was telling him. For all the cold resentment, the King seemed to have for her good sister, he loved the daughter who looked exactly like her. His father and the queen seemed to be caught in some curt discussion on the affairs of the state, whilst her sister stared pointedly at the dress she was decked out in and then at Prince Tommen who was good naturedly squabbling about some cat. With no one paying her presence much heed (something she found infinitely comforting given the tense relations between her family and herself over the past few days), her thoughts returned to her husband and wondering whether he had broken his fast yet. Her thoughts were interrupted when her father called for her attention. 

‘Sansa, are you alright? Is everything…did the Kingslayer…was he…’ Sansa could not help the slight flinch upon hearing her father call her husband ‘Kingslayer’, not now that she knew how the name saddened him. But nonetheless, she smiled at him reassuringly.

‘My dear good sister! What are those black and blue marks on your neck? I sincerely hope my brother was not too rough on you,’ Cersei exclaimed with a glint of…what she could not quite tell. 

But nonetheless, the comment had left her flushed and unable to think of a reasonable explanation. Truth be told, she’d forgotten about the marks. The dull thudding was only there now that she’d been made to realize they were there. Adding fuel to the fire, her father who had previously paid no heed to them was now inspecting them as one would inspect new merchandise for signs of tear. 

‘Sansa if the Kingslayer dishonoured his oath, I’m sure his Grace…’ Sansa flinched again at her father calling her husband ‘Kingslayer’ but cut him off before he could finish the thought.

‘My lord husband has been nothing but kind to me.’

‘OH, FOR THE SAKE OF THE FUCKING GODS! PIPE DOWN ALL OF YOU! Woman it is absolutely none of you damned business to see how your brother likes it in the sack! And Ned, damn it all to hells she’s alive, isn’t she? And look at that fucking blush; if the Kingslayer didn’t know his way around the bed, she’d be a much bigger mess! Sevens be good! Nobody fucking wants to think about the Kingslayer’s cock the first thing in the morning! Now where’s that other fucking Lannister? I NEED MORE WINE!’ The King bellowed, leaving both his wife and oldest friend seething in rage, whilst Sansa felt nauseous to have her marriage bed discussed in such fashion.

As if on cue, Lancel strode in with several large flagons full of wine and Sansa once again wondered how he carried all that till the king boomed again.

‘See Ned, your girl could’ve done a lot worse than the Kingslayer. Atleast, he’s good with the sword. Look at this one they’ve pushed on me, a sorry sot of a fellow! But I suppose he’s younger than the Kingslayer. What say girl? Would you rather have taken the younger Lannister over your old man?’ he said looking right at Sansa. 

Sansa could not believe the man! How could anyone speak so disgracefully of her husband right in front of his new wife? But instead of cowering or raging, she held her poise and with a sweet smile and straightening of her back, met the King’s eyes.

‘Your Grace has been the finest match maker, I find all other men unable to meet by husband in equality, in all aspects.’

‘HUH! The only thing the Kingslayer has no equal in is his ability to be a smarmy thorn at my sight! Or so I thought before this one came in.’ Robert’s carelessness appalled Sansa. He thought himself funny for japing at their expense- at the expense of her new house! Was she supposed to laugh at this? Why was her father sitting quietly as his friend humiliated his kin? 

‘I suppose young maidens would find that smug cunt handsome. Even at his age! More so, than this sorry one. BOY! FILL EM UP! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR? AN INVITATION? HUH! LANNISTERS! What a sorry lot they’ve smothered me with Ned. A fine pair of green-eyed cats! An oathbreaking Kingslayer and a nut-cracking lute player!’

Sansa kept on flinching each time the King called her husband by that name; she kept count of the times. She looked towards her father, who seemed to atleast cringe at the King’s words but clearly didn’t feel the need to speak up for a boy barely older than his own son nor for his good son. She glanced towards the Queen whose eyes were burning with incensed rage but her façade revealed nothing. Sansa found new appreciation for her good sister then, her steel was something to behold. She half wondered if her Aunt Lyanna would’ve rather flung herself from a tower than marry this man. ‘Maybe the Dragon Prince hadn’t taken her by force after all.’ She made a note in her mind to ask her husband about the Targaryen prince later, perhaps when they were gone to Casterly Rock. 

‘And yet that is the kind of man you pair my daughter with,’ her father muttered but not quietly enough for the Queen to miss it. ‘Not quiet enough father, your hatred of your daughter’s new husband is not quiet enough, not to me nor to his sister.’ Sansa thought wistfully. 

‘And pray tell Lord Stark, what kind of man would be a better match than your QUEEN’S own brother?’ Cersei asked all but sneering at her father.

‘PIPE DOWN WOMAN!’ Robert bellowed.

‘I WILL NOT! HOW CAN YOU JUST SIT THERE WHILST THIS MAN INSULTS MY FAMILY…YOUR FAMILY… RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR CHILDREN?!?’ Cersei had taken enough of this shit from her fat fool of a drunkard husband, she certainly would not take it from this Northern savage, especially not when she’d given her perfect twin to his fool of a daughter to be besmirched! The tension rising in the grounds was palpable and they had started to attract attention as the tourney ground began to fill and the jousters had all started to enter the lists. 

Jaime, who’d been busy prepping his horse and armour till then had taken notice of the situation as he heard Cersei’s voice rising and decided to make his way to their seats to try calm her. He’d be damned if the ‘King’ would hit his sister in sight of a full tourney crowd! He clenched his fists at the thought, calmed himself and made his way to the balcony where they were seated.

Sansa could see the red of rage rising in the King’s face and the children- both Tommen and Myrcella looked scared whilst Arya seemed to be bewildered. As soon as the man balled his fist, Sansa knew she had to do something, she’s had it with the King’s cruel jokes and her father’s silent compliance. She couldn’t just let her good sister be humiliated as such.

‘Your Grace!’ Sansa called out, clear as daylight and sweet as cherry cakes, before the situation could worsen. ‘Your Grace! I have a boon to ask of you!’ All eyes on the table turned to her then, wondering what could she possibly ask of the King right as he’s about to have a tirade. 

The King seemed to be confused then, ‘What the fuck could this little bint want now of all times!?! This one had no sense! Just a pretty fool!’

‘What did you want girl?’ He asked scathingly, as he tried to control his rage.

‘Your Grace, you’d promised me a boon on the eve of my wedding…’

Robert looks at her impatiently. ‘Yes. Yes. And…’

‘Well, Your Grace, I would like to ask it of you…if it isn’t too much to ask…I would ask for the honour to share my husband’s name.’ Sansa asked nervously, gaze downwards, at her fumbling hands. Everyone looked at her baffled. Like she had lost her wits. For a second, Sansa thought she might have. This could all go very awry, but she had to ask…for Jaime…to share his burden…she had to be strong- like a Lady of the Rock, no more a little girl.

The King, baffled at her request, boomed out his exasperation- ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN GIRL? You already have the ‘honour’ of sharing the Lannister’s name.’

Sansa flinched at his loudness but then steeled herself, straightened her spine and looked the King straight in the eyes.

‘I mean the honour of sharing all his names Your Grace. For those who call him the Young Lion of Lannister, Lady Lannister is well and good. But for those who have the authority or the courage to call my husband ‘Kingslayer’ to his face, I want nothing more than the honour to be called the Kingslayer’s wife’

The King looked at her shell-shocked for a second, as did everyone in front of her. The tourney crowds present, broke into a tremor of murmurs. But then the King roared out a booming laughter. ‘HONOUR? He’s an OATHBREAKER girl! The name does your husband no honour! What an absurd boon to ask! Why would you want to share such a name?’

‘An oath he broke to bring justice to the Mad King, Your Grace. It was by his sword that injustices against my kin were avenged. There could be no greater honour for his Stark bride to wear the name that symbolizes that.’ Sansa replied in a small but firm voice- unwavering. 

‘Huh! You hear your girl Ned? Honour she says!’ Robert looked to his friend, who now looked more grave and grey than ever before. The queen on the other hand looked both amused and appalled but her eyes had a softer quality to them. ‘And you were worried you’d lose your oldest girl to the Old Lion’s den! Such silly use of a King’s boon is not the Lion’s way.’ 

‘Sansa…you don’t…’ Ned tried to speak but was cut off by his daughter.

‘“Kingslayer’s wife” Lord father.’ The calm courteous surety in her voice made Ned flinch. Loyal to a fault; he’d taught her that. Her duty, loyalty and honour was to her husband first and foremost. And he’d lost her to his own teachings.

‘It’s not to the Old Lion’s plots, seems you lost the girl to the Kingslayer’s bed Ned!’ Robert guffawed. Many of the courtiers present followed suit with their King. Sansa flushed in utter shame then, holding her tears of embarrassment back. She’d NEVER done anything like this in her life. She’d barely ever spoken out of turn to her parents. But she could not let them see how scared she was. Arya would have demanded her boon. She could only be brave enough to ask. Her father looked ashamed then. But whether it was because he believed the King’s jape or because his King was speaking in such vulgar manner about Sansa’s marital bed- that she couldn’t know.

‘Kingslayer! Whatever did you do to the girl last night? She seems to have lost her wit over you. But I suppose young girls are taken by that smug pretty boy face…’ Robert went on but for how long, Sansa couldn’t tell. As soon as he’d called out her husband’s name, Sansa had turned around to see him standing behind her, resplendent in his red and gold Lannister armour, looking like the warrior himself. His eyes, softer and a brighter green than she had seen before, were focused on her. Despite the King calling for him, Jaime’s eyes didn’t waver, as if there was no one else in these moments but them. Sansa tried to gulp down the anxiety that threatened to tear out of her stomach even as she dropped her gaze from her husband’s. She could feel his eyes on her skin but was not quite sure what to make of it; whether she’d been presumptuous and asked for something that angered or embarrassed him or pleased him- she couldn’t tell.

Jaime had walked up to where his royal family had been sitting to calm his sister, give her comfort and collect her favour for luck in the tourney held in honour of his marriage. He would politely ignore his new wife and her family and shirk of whatever unoriginal insults the fat King and his sullen good father had for him because frankly he just couldn’t be bothered…not when Cersei was threatened. But when he got there, it wasn’t Cersei being humiliated; it was his wife. 

Jaime for all his talents was always a wallflower, a watcher. He often thought it would’ve been quite appropriate to make him take the black, then at least this circumstantial talent would mean something- a watcher on the wall. He could watch away and that’d never conflict against any vow he took. He’d be the watcher fates willed him to be. Because for all his titles and talents, he could only watch- so he did. He watched as his wife stumped the angry red king with her mad request, he watched her be belittled for her madness and his past and he watched her stand impossibly straight and resilient in her convictions- to share his name…to add ‘Kingslayer’ to hers. Alarm bells were going off in his head- ‘Stop her! Stop her you good for nothing fool!’ But he couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t move from their spot. He should’ve called out to her. Screamed at her presumptuous stupidity, smacked her down if necessary. He should’ve been livid. But he couldn’t. Instead he just stared enthralled- at her faith in his faithless act (as others see it), at her conviction to share his burden, at her strength even when it was clear she was holding back tears. Only when she turned, aware of his presence, did he manage to move. 

He was aware there were others present- the whole court and crowd at the tourney to be precise, warriors and knights and smallfolk and royals. The half of his soul, his sister, his Cersei was present but even willing to do so, his gaze would not move from Sansa, who was blushing harder by the second under his gaze- anxiety and trepidation clear in her eyes as they fell from his and as if bewitched, his strides took him to her. Robert was babbling and laughing in the background, whilst Cersei was almost snarling- whether at her husband or him or Sansa, he could not tell, it was as if all other presence was shut off from his mind and he could not care even if he tried to. 

They both stayed silent for an unknown amount of time- it could have been a moment or several, he had no idea- till Sansa decided to speak.

‘My Lord…I…are you…have you broken your fast? You should eat before the tourney…’ Sansa asked, unable to think of anything else to say but was cut off by her husband.

‘Take it back Sansa, you don’t know what you ask for.’ Jaime whispered words only meant for her ears- not moving, not touching her. His voice held none of the anger or forcefulness he had intended, only desperation.

Sansa finally stopped looking at her fidgeting hands and met his gaze, a sad smile tugging at her lips. ‘I don’t know. But neither did you I don’t think. You’ve lived with it longer than I have been alive. I may not be strong enough to have lived with its entire burden for as long as you have but I can try to share some of it. I am sorry if I have stepped out of my place my Lord. But word has been given and honoured.’ She whispered back just as quietly.

Jaime felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second. ‘Who was this girl he had wed? Why was she doing this? What had she to gain? Why did she care? The girl was a fool! A Stark with nonsensical fantasies of knights and maids and honour. Could she not see? Everybody wanted Ser Jaime Lannister; nobody wanted the Kingslayer- not even the woman who loved him, she simply didn’t acknowledge it for anything more than a fear tactic. Jaime Lannister was her wifely duty, the Kingslayer was his burden alone- why did Sansa who’d known him for a night want the Kingslayer?’ Thoughts raced through his mind at light speed, till he came to a startle- ‘Because Jaime Lannister and the Kingslayer are both you- she wants all of you, the jagged and the beautiful. But she doesn’t know…how ugly the jagged is. She will run when she does and then only she may be safe if not unharmed.’

Jaime wanted to say something, to kiss her, to hurt her, to run away and never look back. But instead he extended his open hands towards her.

‘Favour.’ He said. 

Sansa looked at him confused then. ‘But…my lord…I…Her Grace…your sister…is your lady luck…you always joust with her favour…I didn’t think…’ She hadn’t prepared anything and her handkerchief was with Ser Lancel. What was she to do now? Gods how could she have messed this up? She’d dreamt of such a moment since childhood!

Everyone in the room was now watching the newly-weds, trying to figure out exactly what kind of strange intimacy had passed between the Kingslayer and his young wife. What game were they playing at? Little did they know, Sansa had no idea any game was necessary and Jaime was simply uninterested in the play. Not even the Queen understood that; she was sure- it was a ploy to make her jealous by Jaime. Some girlish fantasy of his foolish little copper wife who could never hold a candle to her gold. Yet, if looks could deliver the Stranger’s gifts, the Queen would’ve struck the girl down a thousand times. Whatever, this was…it had to end. She’d have rather happened upon them fucking in the grounds than…whatever this was.

There was a collective gasp when Jaime reached out to touch Sansa’s cheek. She sighed as he brushed across her cheeks before his fingers tangled into her thick braid- her hair falling open as he pulled out the ribbon holding the braid together with a smooth painless tug. It was scandalous for a married lady to have her locks left so wildly untied. But Sansa could hardly speak as her husband’s hands lingered in her hair, setting the strays locks of her waves back into place before he reluctantly pulled away and held the ribbon out to her. She obediently took the piece and tied it around his right arm before he stalked out towards the grounds without a word or a second glance at anyone else.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jaime had been furious riding into the tourney. At Cersei, at Sansa but mostly at himself. Earlier in the morning he’d sought out Cersei only to have her scream at him for fucking Sansa, for not fucking Sansa brutally enough, for Sansa finding pleasure in his bed, for him spending the night with Sansa as was commonplace practice, coming to her too soon in the morning, not coming soon enough…he’d had no idea what exactly she had reproached him about. The whole idea to go along with it was her fucking suggestion in the first place! Get a child on her…how exactly was he to do that if he refused to find pleasure in the girl’s bed or not bed her at all!?! How was he supposed to stop Sansa from finding pleasure in his bed when she was such an obviously passionate young girl? 

But in the end, none of the arguments had worked and he’d been booted out of Cersei’s room with a resounding thud. He’d figured it would settle and Cersei would see reason when she observed the true formality of his relationship with Sansa- a formality he’d intended to maintain despite the passing of the prior night. But then this morning happened and for the first time since Cersei and he have both been present in Kings Landing, he’d taken a favour from another. Not only that, but his relationship with Sansa now publicly showed far more intimacy than there was in reality- or so he thought. 

He still had difficulties sorting out in his head what exactly was the reality of his intimacy with Sansa, or for that matter what exactly happened in the past sunset to morn that made him so uncomfortable in his own skin, yet made him feel ten man lighter. Sansa had said she wanted to share his burden…but could things be just that simple? Yes, she was young and looked him as one might, a star that fell on the ground and started walking, but she was old enough- only a few moons short of coming of age, many girls her age were mothers already. She had to understand what she’d asked. What could she possibly have to gain from this? After pondering on his seemingly endless frustrations for what seemed like a copious amount of time, Jaime decided to put all of it in the backburner and focus his rage to win the tourney instead. 

And win he did- first against a series of knights whose names he cannot be bothered to remember, Beric Dondarion, Lord Commander Selmy, Loras Tyrell. And with each victory, he felt his wife’s gaze a little more keenly. Sansa’s eyes had stayed, hard fast on him the whole time he jousted. She would take her seat and read her book till it was his turn, and would only turn her attention to the tourney when he was fighting, eyes locked onto his every muscle and movement. She did not even spare a glance at the other fighters, as if they weren’t even there- as if he was the king of the world and she was confident no one could hold a candle to his prowess. It bothered and annoyed him…her silly devotion. But then he faced the mountain and her eyes still trained on him alone, misted with worry and (by the wince of pain on her father’s face) she grabbed Ned’s hand a little too tight. Then suddenly he felt as if something genuine was at stake here for him other than far off notions of glory. 

He looked up to find Cersei’s face caught in a perpetual sneer at her husband’s drunken antics. She wasn’t even looking. She rarely ever looked. She thought such notions beneath her. But not Sansa. He toppled the Clegane giant then who snarled at him but stayed down (for a dog would never bite the hand that feeds it). Everyone clapped but the Kingslayer’s wife jumped up from her seat and hooted his victory before immediately sitting back down, red faced and clearly embarrassed at her behaviour. And that’s when Jaime felt like he was the king of the world. He chuckled at her cheers and looked to see Cersei snarling at his wife in vivid jealousy and a great idea came to his mind. He would make use of his sister’s raging jealousy to win her back. 

He rode forth towards Robert to collect the wreath crown and made his way to his wife, watching Cersei the whole time. He placed the crown on her lush copper head, which she accepted with a shy curtsy- eyes downcast, cheeks tinted pink and a proud smile playing at her lips. ‘Gods, we must look a vision right now, the ideal picture of a knight and his fair maiden,’ Jaime thought to himself before turning to face the crowds who were now cheering louder than ever before. 

Sansa eyed her victorious husband for some time and once again wondered how she of all people ended up being blessed with such a man. She wanted to touch him then. ‘I’m his lady wife; it’s not inappropriate for me to kiss his cheeks. It’s my right to be happy for him.’ With that thought, Sansa bent down to kiss him on the cheeks, when suddenly Jaime turned around and she was met with his lips instead. They were both shocked for a bit at the contact but then Jaime could hear Ned Stark’s uncomfortably clearing his throat and Cersei looking right about murderous. ‘Perfect,’ he thought before deepening the kiss, tangling his fingers into Sansa’s hair and pushing his tongue past her lips. Sansa was so shocked yet breathless and stirred that she closed her eyes, leaning further into her husband’s inappropriate show of affection. 

The whole crowd had raptured into hoots of shock and approval but then suddenly, a big splash of wine put a literal damper on their romance. They both turned around to see Arya holding the cup, the content of which she’d just thrown at their faces. Both of their side faces and hair was now tainted with wine, as well as Jaime’s armour. There was silence in the crowd then. The King had passed out from drinking, whilst Cersei looked like she was about to ask the Kingsguard to beat the little girl blue. Even Ned Stark looked more stricken by his younger daughter’s actions than his elder’s. 

‘Sansa throws water on me when I’m being an ‘inappropriate little beast’. I didn’t have any and you two were being inappropriate, so I figured wine would do.’ Arya explained, as if it was the most obvious solution. Sansa looked at her little sister aghast whilst Jaime blinked thrice processing her words before bursting into laughter, lifting all the tension that had seemed to befall the crowd. Everyone laughed then (other than Cersei who just snarled at everyone, her brother included). Sansa who was still appalled at Arya turned to berate her younger sister who simply jumped off the podium and ran, just missing the silverware her angry older sister threw in her direction. 

Jaime made his way to his tent then to relieve himself from his armour and instructed his squire to fetch water for a bath. He sat in the tent peeling off his armour and leather piece by piece when he saw Sansa entering the tent flushed and in a flurry before sitting on a small spare stool before him. 

‘My lord! I am so sorry! I don’t know why she did that! I didn’t teach her to throw water at people, I promise! I just…I just wanted her to behave but now she goes and does this…I just couldn’t control my anger and I…I threw things at her! But…’ Sansa bit her lips then…she really wanted to sing to calm herself; a silly bad habit she hadn’t had time for and now she was once again a mess. Hadn’t she messed up enough with her husband already? Why did Arya always have to be…such a beast!

Jaime smiled at his flustered wife then. She was…endearing when flustered…and so so enticing when she bit her lips like that. His hands reached out to touch her kiss-swollen lips, smoothing his finger over them as he traced the little incision she’d made at the bottom right corner in throes of passion the past night. Sansa sighed in contentment at the sensation. She’d craved his touch since the morning but unfortunately, they were interrupted by Jaime’s squire entering the tent with bath water, watching the couple with nervous eyes as he did his duty. Sansa jumped away from her husband’s touch and stood up to pour herself some water, feeling rather flushed from her husband’s attention and the southron summer. Jaime on the other hand had never felt so annoyed at the damned boy whose eyes lingered on his wife a little too long for his comfort. He shot the boy a death glare, causing him to scamper off in haste. He turned his attention back to his wife then.

‘I’m not angry Sansa. I laughed. I quite enjoyed her antic…and her sister’s wanton kiss afterwards as well.’ Jaime teased his nervous wife.

Sansa turned to him, once again flushed and scolded him- ‘I am wanton? I wasn’t the one who…who…used tongue.’ She said the word ‘tongue’ as if it was an accursed word, which amused Jaime to no end. 

‘Oh yes, the tongue. It’s strange but I could’ve sworn I felt your wicked little tongue do the dance with mine dear wife…hmm…must be the famed wolf blood of the North I so often hear about. I personally rather enjoy your wildling blood little wolf,’ Jaime smirked.

Sansa was scandalized but couldn’t help chuckling at her husband’s insistent teasing. Gods he was relentless! But then a wonderful little mischief came to her mind and she moved towards her husband, moving her hips a little more suggestively to catch his attention. 

‘My lord likes the wolf blood?’ Jaime gulped at the seductive song in her voice and just nodded as he intently watched her hips move. ‘Would my lord like me to act upon my wild wolf blood?’ Jaime nodded again; she could not have moved towards him any slower it seemed. ‘Are you sure? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He nodded like a green boy then. ‘Alright then, I guess I should…’ She empties an entire goblet of water that she was holding behind her right on Jaime’s head. ‘Do this!’ 

Jaime blinked for a few moments in surprise before closing his eyes as the water ran down his face and Sansa started to laugh at his expression. He opened his eyes then and smirked suggestively at Sansa. ‘Oh, I see the wolf blood now little wife. Now how about I return the favour?’ Sansa shook her head and ran, a trail of laughter following her. Jaime ran after her- ‘Oh just you wait little wife, I will be avenged!’. She was much faster than he’d anticipated but still caught her easily enough and lifted her onto his arms. She squeaked out a protest at first but then felt shy as her eyes meet Jaime’s- desire burning clear. Blushing, her gaze dropped to his naked chest and she reached out to hesitantly graze the light spread of soft golden hair there. Her touch became more insistent as she heard her husband panting a moan but faltered when she gazed into his eyes again and managed to blush harder. Jaime laughed at her reaction as he deposited her onto the table and at that moment Sansa thought he looks like a god with his wet gold hair and rivulets dripping down the side of his face and onto his chest. 

She reached out to wipe the water off his face but he caught her wrist; holding it in place in a fierce grip that would’ve been painful, if she was not distracted by the longing in her belly and her rising heartbeat. Jaime brought his face close to Sansa and she closed her eyes in anticipation. Suddenly, instead of his lips on hers, Sansa felt the cool wetness of Jaime’s cheek against hers and a shiver went down her spine as she felt her husband’s lips against her ear.

‘I told you I would be avenged little wife,’ he whispered with a low growl before biting her earlobe and Sansa let out a breathy moan. He proceeded to kiss her right below her ear, rubbing his wet hair against her neck all the way down to her breasts, wetting her crimson dress in the process. Suddenly, he grabbed her other wrist and pinned her down on the table with him hovering over her. Instinctively, Sansa’s legs encircled his waist and she could’ve sworn he growled. 

‘I want you Sansa.’ Sansa looked to him flushed and puzzled at his ardour.

‘But but what if…what if someone was to hear us…or or…walk in?’ She whispered, a beautiful blush creeping up her face. Jaime kissed her cheeks, down her neck and peppered kisses all over the exposed area above the neckline of her dress, leaving Sansa feeling a heady warmth about her. She was sweet and playful when it was just them and made him feel the same. She was also fiercely loyal when they were with everyone else; it made him feel…something they could speak of later. For now, he wanted to be inside her. He smiled up at her cheekily before he pulled away to look at her.

‘I guess I will just have to kill whoever comes inside the tent whilst I’m fucking my wife. Can’t have men thinking he can just watch the ‘Kingslayer’s wife’ in the throes of passion and live to tell the tale, can we?’ Sansa looked down, suddenly afraid and ashamed that earlier passings had angered him. 

‘My lord I didn’t mean any offence…I just…I couldn’t bare it- the way they spoke of you. My father…you’re his good son, he shouldn’t…you did nothing to warrant such cruel words. I know you don’t like…it hurts you I think. And I wanted to just lessen it, if I can’t stop it. If nothing else, just to share how it pains you so that I may know how to sooth you- that’d be enough.’

Jaime inhaled sharply at her words. He’d only meant to tease her. Not talk about whatever witchcraft she’d performed earlier. But he knew that her knightly illusions of him couldn’t persist. Even if he’d kind of miss her affection, letting her keep these ideas of him…that’d be cruel. ‘You…don’t know the things I have done Sansa. You barely know me sweet wife. Names I have maybe unwarranted but that doesn’t mean I don’t warrant even worse names. So don’t worry that pretty little head over me. Besides I can think of one way you can make me feel much better.’ 

His hand slid down her thighs to lift her dress over her waist and groaned to find her bare beneath. Jaime ran his fingers down her thigh, gently caressing her folds as he watched Sansa moan and throw her head back in pleasure at the contact. He brought his finger to his lips and licked to taste her juices and his cock began to twitch beneath his breeches.

‘Shhh little wolf, you have to be quiet, otherwise my guards will certainly barge in and then I’d have to kill them. Now you wouldn’t wish your husband to become a cold-blooded murderer in addition to Kingslayer now, would you? Gods Sansa. You’re dripping. Did you want me all morning little wife? You’re not wearing small clothes. Did you want my cock inside you, did you want me to take you here knowing anyone can hear you moan for me, knowing anyone can walk in on us?’

‘NO MY LORD! I…I…It was too hot and…and the maid…’ Jaime laughed at his wife’s ability to somehow turn the most carnal conversations into innocent chatter and turn him on with innocent chatter. He unravelled her legs from around his waist and placing her feet flat on the table, opening her upto his gaze. Sansa blushed and shivered as she watched his lips skim down her thighs with trepidation but before she could voice anything Jaime’s lips were on her wet folds and she was lost.

‘Jaaaiiimmee…’ Sansa moaned incapable of coherent thought or speech as her husband’s tongue started lapping at her slit, teasing her entrance before going up to the point where her pleasure had concentrated. Jaime’s lips latched onto the little flesh above her folds and give it a suckle. Sansa’s hips nearly arched off the table, as she bit down on her lips hard to keep from moaning to the high heavens and her fingers latched onto the golden curls of his head, unsure whether she wanted to keep his head buried firmly where it was or to remove him to relieve the overwhelming pressure that was building up, threatening to spill out of her being. But Jaime was persistent in his assault. He used one arm to press down on her belly to hold her in place, whilst lapping and teasing her womanhood till she felt her body strung like a harp and then crashed down, inner muscles fluttering relentlessly as his mouth brought her to ecstasy. Sansa closed her eyes tight shut as she felt like her whole body had turned into pudding. 

Feeling much satisfied with his handiwork, Jaime looked up to see his wife- her breasts tight inside the wet bodice of her dress heaving, face flushed, eyes fanned under thick dark lashes shut tight in ecstasy and lips swollen and bloodied in trying to hold back her moans. He released her lower body from his grip and reached out to stroke her cheek, as Sansa fluttered her eyes open. She’d never thought to feel such a sensation, she’d never even heard women say their lord husband would…do such things. His thumb swept across her lips to the bleeding corner. She always bit the same corner in pleasure Jaime noted.

‘You have to stop brutalizing your beautiful little lips she-wolf, or else people may start thinking the lion is eating you up…although, I don’t believe it would be terribly far from the truth in this case,’ he jested. Sansa playfully hit his forearm at his crude jest. Jaime smiled and bent down to whisper in her ears. ‘The lion loved eating you up Sansa. You taste so good, like peaches and honey. I could sup on you all day. But I need to be inside you.’ He pulled her up to a sitting position and took her hands in his bringing them to the front of his breeches, which were stretched to the max with his hardness jutting at the seams. ‘Can you feel how much I want you?’ 

Feeling emboldened by his gesture, Sansa rubbed her hands softly across the hardened bulge in his breeches and Jaime groaned in satisfaction. She took that as her queue and hesitantly began to unlace him, all the while blushing under his intense gaze unable to meet his eyes. Once he was freed from his confines Jaime exhaled sharply in relief. He could tell Sansa wanted to explore but he was impossibly hard and it took all his restraint to not just drill into her already. The rush from the tourney had already left his blood heated, the beautiful girl and the promise of her wet tightness didn’t help matters at all. 

Sansa seemed to read his mind on the matter. She took his hand in hers, pulling him down with her as she lay back down on the table. She bent her knees and parted her legs in offering- warmth and pleasure. In their current position, his cock was perfectly aligned with her sodden cunt, just waiting to be filled and Jaime certainly did not need to be told twice. He pumped his hips, rubbing the head of his cock against her slit before entering her to the hilt in one long thrust. They both moaned at the feeling and this time, instead of allowing her time to adjust, Jaime began thrusting into her in quick, long and powerful stroke immediately, ravaging Sansa’s insides. 

She closed her eyes as she felt breathless at the sheer intensity of Jaime’s manhood ramming into her- the slight pain of being stretched with the heady pleasure of being touched in places she had no idea even existed was overwhelming. Sansa’s legs curled around Jaime’s waist bringing him in even deeper where she could feel hitting her womb. They both began moaning under their breathes, trying to be mindful of atleast the soldiers standing right outside the tent. Jaime felt himself coming very close to his release. He snuck his hand under Sansa’s hips, slightly lifting her arse of the table, giving him the perfect angle so that his cock grazed her little nub with every thrust and in moments Sansa’s cunt began to spasm her release and she bit down on her hand to stop herself from screaming her pleasure to the seven heavens. Jaime followed her in bliss soon after, as he pumped his seed into her womb, never once bothering to quieten his guttural roar of pleasure. 

After several moments of breathless panting, Jaime stood up pulling himself out of Sansa and placed a light kiss on her forehead. ‘We should clean,’ he said. Sansa obediently nodded and began to unlace her dress walking towards the bathing water Jaime’s squire had brought in earlier. She put her hair up in a bun and began to clean herself with a dampened rag. Jaime could not quite tear his eyes away from his wife and they followed her around the room. He waited for the guilt to come up (he hadn’t thought about Cersei once as he fucked Sansa), but it never did. Somehow that felt worse, more dangerous. ‘She’s my wife, it’s hardly dangerous to desire her,’ he assured himself. 

As he continued observing her, Jaime noticed that she winced slightly as she tried to straighten the slight limp in her walk, as she straightened her back, as she cleaned between her thighs. We’ll destroy her with all our other enemies- Cersei’s voice rang loud and clear in his ears and Jaime felt the uncomfortable tug in his chest that was becoming a norm around Sansa. He walked up to his wife and took the wash rag out of her hands, gently running it over the spot on her lower back she couldn’t reach. Sansa closed her eyes upon feeling his gentle ministrations. His eyes raked over her skin as he cleaned her and himself. There were purpling bruises on her back, her neck and the latest one being finger marks on her wrist from his grip. He gently took her wrist in his hand and lightly thumbed over the marks, his eyes fixating over the purpling splotch. His concentration was interrupted when he felt the back of Sansa’s fingers caressing his cheeks. He looked up to see her clear blue eyes looking to him with gentle affection, a serene smile lighting up her face.

‘My lord, it’s just a mark. I’m not hurt. It will go away.’ 

‘But I did Sansa. I hurt you. These marks will go away but you’ve been wincing when you walk. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I shouldn’t have taken you as I did. It will get worse- the pain.’

‘But I liked it! I…I mean…the pain…no I mean it was…it felt good. It felt so good Jaime. You’ve given me such pleasure…I don’t mind the pain.’ Sansa went beet red admitting such things to her lord husband- she was sure he thought her a lady of poor character and wanton tastes!

Jaime groaned at her confession and pulled Sansa into a hug, tugging her hair down and nuzzling into her red locks. Lemon and lavender- her smell- Jaime noted was as nostalgic as her voice and made him want to stay like this. But then he remembered they were still in his tourney tent. He’d already risked someone coming in and seeing his wife in the throes of passion. He realized with a startle that even the idea of someone other than him seeing his wife like that, being on the receiving end of Sansa’s affection enraged him. So instead, he broke the hug and urged Sansa to get dressed whilst he hovered over her to ensure she was covered from prying gazes, before dressing himself and exiting the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly apologies for the terribly late update but there were two impeding issues. Firstly, I was busy and secondly, this was a monumentally difficult chapter for me to write. The difficulty comes on many grounds:  
> 1) Sansa cannot be the same as her 11 year old self or as one would imagine her as a 15 year old post the Lannisters. This had to be a 15 year old Sansa who had been raised past her impressionable stage of 11-15 years (pretty much adulthood in Westeros for women) by Ned and Catelyn. Yet i wanted her to retain her initial romanticism and simplicity. I tried to envision her as the Sansa in the show now but minus the brutality of the last few years. She's insightful and kind but her expectations and desires are simpler than the grand canvas of revenge and power. she's astute but not a schemer. i hope i got the right balance of innocence and intelligence.  
> 2) its hard to write a relationship that is so simple for one person's pov and yet to difficult and complex from the other's. that balance is important because things can seem unrealistically too quick a progress on Jaime's end. I had to address many of his demons in order to make a compelling case for his attraction to Sansa without making it seem like an overnight change. but i hope i've convinced some of you atleast.  
> 3) the time frame i have to develop this before shit hits the fan is miniscule. im trying not to make it sappy and build some depth to why they would linger in each others' thoughts post this phase. jaime's primary motivation is and will be Cersei for a long time but Sansa needs to linger in him so that there is SOMETHING to salvage and build on post this phase. and for Sansa, the need to have feelings is even greater. because jaime fucks up, thats what he does. and he will do so many times and for a long time to come. so its important to build some depth and chemistry from day 1. i hope it wasnt too abrupt.  
> 4) my timeline doesnt allow time for jaime to stay an aloof dick for too long so i had to make sure that Sansa topples his attempts at every turn without meaning to and leaves him AFFECTED at least. but hope i didnt overdo it.
> 
> Please share your thoughts!
> 
> Oh! and if anyones interested, i was inspired to include the Lancel angle cos of this blog post. sansa will have many admirers in the story. it helps to be 15 and not 11.
> 
> http://www.tearsofblood.org/sansas-effect-on-lancel-lannister


	5. Jaime's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all my apologies for the VERY late update. I have been away in a very remote place for work and could barely dedicate time to eating this last month and half. But finally i am back with another chapter and hope you all enjoy. unlike my usual trend where i go back and forth with the timeline, this chapter will continue from the previous rather than in the future. Hope you all enjoy it.

Sansa walked towards the King’s quarters from her chamber in the White Sword Towers on a dining invitation from the Queen to the newly-weds and her family. After they’d…been intimate in his tent, Jaime had taken off to the practice grounds seeming distracted, leaving her to attend the dinner on their behalf. It was still odd to her that she was the first woman to reside there…officially atleast. She’d seen plenty of buxom women- servants and whores and highborn mistresses alike, exiting the chambers of the Kingsguard in the secret of night- to know she wasn’t the only woman being bedded in the towers, but it was queer to her nonetheless. A strange deviation- her marital chambers- from the tales of the white brotherhood she’d grown up with. 

She’d been married to Ser Jaime in such a rush, they’d barely had any time to move his chambers. Despite his clear discomfort, Ser Barristan had been gracious enough to allow them to keep to Jaime’s old chambers for the week it’d take to prepare another- as a gift to his former squire he’d said. Sansa found herself increasingly fond of the old knight, despite some odd tension that seemed to exist between himself and her husband. ‘Ofcourse, he’s the Kingslayer, even his master shuns him. It must hurt Jaime a lot,’ she thought sadly. But before she could ponder on it further, she realized she was at the royal quarters with Ser Moore guarding the doorway, who barely even acknowledged her presence as she entered. She was about to knock when she heard hushed voices inside. 

‘We haven’t had a proper fight in nine years! Backstabbing doesn’t prepare you for a fight and that’s all the realm is now, backstabbing and arse licking and money grabbing…sometimes I don’t know what keeps the realm all together.’

Sansa sighed, she didn’t want to listen to the King’s confession of how their country had descended when he himself hadn’t done anything to lessen the fall. She thought to knock, not wanting to be late for the dinner engagement they had invited her to but then she stopped when she heard her good sister respond. 

‘Our marriage,’ Cersei said before they both burst into peals of laughter, leaving Sansa utterly confused and somewhat intrigued.

‘Ah! So here we sit, seventeen years later, holding it all together. Don’t you get tired?’

‘Everyday.’

‘Well, how long can hate hold everything together?’ Hearing the King’s indifferent jape about their marriage made Sansa cringe in sadness for her good sister. She wanted to leave but her feet just would not move- curiosity holding this cat firmly in her place.

‘Seventeen years is quite a long time.’

‘Yes, it is.’ The King replied and for a moment, Sansa’s mind wondered about her parents’ relationship and how it had only ever been love and respect between them before turning her mind back to the conversation. It may have been then saddest thing she’d ever heard; any remaining illusions Sansa had about marrying a King of gallant tales withering in face of this reality. 

‘What was she like?’ Cersei asked; Sansa’s breathe hitched in her throat- they were speaking of her aunt Lyanna. 

‘You’ve never asked about her. Not once. Why now?’ Robert queried with the slightest hint of trepidation in his voice. 

‘Well at first, saying her name, even in private, felt like I was breathing life into her. I thought if I just didn’t talk about her, she’d just fade away for you. When I realized that wasn’t going to happen, I refused to ask out of spite. I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I cared enough to ask. Eventually it became clear that my spite didn’t mean anything to you, as far as I could tell, you actually enjoyed it.’ 

‘Then why now?’ The softness in the King’s tone took Sansa aback. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was something to salvage in this relationship yet. 

‘Because what harm could Lyanna Stark’s ghost do to either of us that we haven’t done to each other a hundred times over?’

‘You want to know the horrible truth? I can’t even remember what she looked like. I just know she was the one thing I have ever wanted, someone took her and seven kingdoms couldn’t fill the hole she left behind.’ And then Sansa knew- this was beyond repair. You cannot chase a man who runs after dead desires. For the first time, Sansa understood what her mother meant when she said that a woman’s battle is a lot harder than the follies of men. In the battlefield, men are killed by enemies; women die a bit every day at the hands of indifferent men who are meant to be their own. Men who chase the unreachable before slipping into their wives’ bed. How do you fight an enemy in your own bed? 

‘I felt something for you once, you know?’

‘I know,’ King Robert said. Sansa wondered again if her father knew just how miserable the friend he considered a brother was and how miserable he’d made his wife; or if he just didn’t care because of his hatred for her husband and goodfather. The King listened to him, couldn’t he have at least tried to reason with him? This was so sad. 

‘Even after we lost our first boy…for quite a while actually. Was it ever possible for us? Ever a time or a moment?’ Cersei asked- there was no sadness in her voice, only curiosity. Sansa felt her heartbeat quicken and unable to take it any longer she knocked and bowed mechanically as she was summoned inside. 

The rest of the dinner she couldn’t concentrate on any of the conversations around her, thinking only of the desolate unhappiness that surrounded the royal couple all because of a shadow of past love. Sansa couldn’t help but think if her marriage had any looming shadows; if someday, she and Jaime would find themselves sharing the gloom of laughter over shared hate or worse…indifference. It was not unlikely that there was someone in his life, someone who shared the pleasure of his bed and body before Sansa, maybe even the claim to his love- Jaime had lived much longer than she. There must’ve been others. Although Jaime was in the Kingsguard prior to their marriage, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe or pretend that his vows released him from human needs or instincts. She could clearly imagine the woman who had perhaps held his heart- tall, buxom and just as glorious as he is; the kind of woman a girl such as herself could never hold a candle to. 

The thought of being unable to have her husband’s love saddened her but nonetheless, silently Sansa said a prayer to the Mother, thanking her for giving her Jaime as a husband; he cared when she hurt. He wasn’t indifferent…even if she couldn’t live upto any past lovers, he still cared for her comfort and feelings. He was not like King Robert. They could build something on that. Sansa vowed to herself then, no matter the shadow any predecessor cast, she wouldn’t allow her marriage to fall to such unhappiness. She would never stop caring about Jaime, no matter the cost. She was a wolf of the North and a lioness now, she would be strong and she would win the woman’s war. She would chase away his shadows and bring him back home. No matter if the shadow were dead or alive, she would never stop trying to make her marriage one of happiness and love- she would make Jaime happy till her dying breathe.

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Jaime strode back into the castle having trained on the grounds well past dinner. There was too much in his mind- leaving the Kingsguard, his new life, what it all meant- Sansa, her request to Robert, her gentle affection, how he could not bring himself to treat that affection with indifference…and Cersei, always Cersei. She would always be there and no woman, no matter how worthy and good, could free his mind from her. 

Thinking about his sister brought a queer pain in his chest. Asking Sansa for a favour was betrayal, he’d seen it on Cersei’s face, however momentarily, that flash of anger. He’d often riled her up; she’d yell and scream and be a hellcat in bed but she had never been angry at Jaime- not really. But now, well in all honesty, he was not quite sure why he was stumped by Sansa in his attempts at indifference, perhaps because she is his responsibility now and he never wants to be a Aerys or a Robert. He just didn’t understand the need to be cruel to women, especially ones’ wife and especially when she’d been nothing but kind and sweet and wise and comforting and…BUT it was angering Cersei and he couldn’t bare that. He made a turn then towards the Queen’s chambers. It was usually guarded by some Lannister guard or the other and they were ignored or told to leave easily enough.

He reached Cersei’s chambers to find only one of her handmaidens clearing things out of her room. 

‘Girl!’ he called out, not quite remembering the mousy girl’s name.

She turned around looking to attention upon noticing who had called her and curtseyed.

‘Where is my sister?’ Jaime asked brusquely.

‘My lord, the Queen has requested to stay with His Grace for the night. I was just here to fetch her morning dress.’

Jaime was shocked, he didn’t quite understand…Cersei never stayed in Robert’s chambers. Robert came to Cersei when he wanted to. And he seldom wanted to.

‘The Queen req…doesn’t His grace just visit when he wishes to see her?’ Jaime stuttered out unable to find a better way to phrase a question that would satiate his curiosity and wield him the answer he wanted.

The girl felt uncomfortable then, not entirely sure how to answer this question without seeming terribly inappropriate. Ladies never asked to stay with their husbands, not unless there was great familiarity between them. But the King and her Lady, they seemed to hate each other at best. She’d been on duty at times when His Grace visited and the noises could only be described as warring rutting animals rather than pleasure. She had no idea why the Queen had suddenly decided to visit her husband’s bed when she’d never seemed interested in the nine moons she’d been here. 

‘Ser, Her Grace has been with her husband and since before supper and we simply received orders from Ser Trant that the Queen will be staying the night in her husband’s chambers and that I am to deliver her morning change and both of their food to break their fast in the morning. I guess your marriage to Lady Lannister must’ve been auspicious for them as well, must’ve reminded them of better days, they do seem a lot more conversational lately…’ The girl wondered aloud before realizing what she was saying and swiftly looked towards Ser Jaime to apologise for speaking out of turn, only to find him strutting away swiftly.

Jaime could not think as he strode into his room, he could barely breathe. Cersei had GONE to Robert’s bed…WILLINGLY…to teach him a lesson. That fat oaf would touch her tonight and she would take him willingly, the place where only Jaime had been…now Robert would have it too. Abruptly, Jaime turned and puked into the nearest vessel he could find before throwing it out the window into the bay. Cersei…was this all a game to her? Not quite wishing to ponder on the answer, he walked into his chambers and slammed the door behind him. Rage was pumping through his veins, rage and unparalleled jealousy. It felt like the licks of fire on his skin. He wanted to stamp on something and rage and kill someone. 

In his fit of anger, he punched into the grand mirror in his solar, breaking it to pieces, cutting his hand open in places as tiny shards of glass stuck into his knuckles and blood pooled, dripping down his hand. The pain just enraged him further and he kicked away everything in his path, spreading chaos in his trail. He wanted to scream but stopped in his track, seeing Sansa stand at the gateway between their bedchamber and his solar, looking pale and terrified. But as soon as their eyes met, the edges of fright curbed to the rounder expression of sadness in his little wife’s gaze and before he could say anything- yell his frustrations out at her, tell her to fuck off, tell her to leave him be- she had already taken her step towards him, the edge of her feet landing on a sharp bit of broken glass from some object or the other he’d broken in the room. She winced but did not deter, as she continued to reach out to him, leaving a trail of blood behind.

‘My lord! Your hand…it is bleeding! Please, let me wash and tie it up Jaime,’ she stuttered out quickly, her formal address dropping in her panic for his wellbeing. Jaime inhaled deeply at her sweet tone and sweeter words. 

‘Gods, Sansa! Just…JUST STAY WHERE YOU ARE!’ Jaime burst out.

Sansa winced and stopped in her tracks, looking down with tearful eyes. 

Jaime exhaled and spoke in a calm cold voice- ‘You are bleeding. Just see to your wounds and go to bed…just leave.’ He turned away and waited as he heard his wife sob and make her way to the bed chambers before leaving to dress his own wound.

Once he returned, Sansa was in bed. Thanking his stars, Jaime situated himself in the divan of his solar, allowing fitful sleep to overtake him. 

 

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The sun shone bright on Jaime’s face as he awakened from his uncomfortable sleep in the small solar adjacent to his room in the White Sword Tower. He was barely conscious when he heard the melodious strumming and for a time, Jaime was transported back to yet another dream that often turned into a nightmare. The harp strumming, what is sorrowful and daunting, like a romance playing out in the battlefields, and just as in his dreams, Jaime found himself following the melody, panic rising in his chest. This was just another dream, the dragon prince was gone, boyhood dreams of honour and the glorious laughter of his anointed brotherhood was gone- he kept telling himself. The chime would only lead him to a strew of death. 

He could not stop himself from following towards the small balcony at the entrance of his solar. And then he heard it- that voice, one that rang like songbirds with the depth of waves soothing a burn. With immediacy, his fear subsided filling him with the calming balm of relief and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Sansa’s voice freed him of the deaths of his nights and brought him back to the warm shining morning sun. But the warmth turned to a burn as he looked to his wife. Clad in a light, powdery blue summer dress, her face free of any traces of light rouge she wore daily, her hair was yet to be tied and it fell in lush untangled waves all around her with the sun shining from behind, casting its copper halo. Her eyes were closed in peaceful concentration as she hit each note of her ballad to perfection. 

Jaime could barely tear his eyes off her when his reverie was interrupted by a harsh punctuation of claps. Only then he realized that they had company. His cousin Lancel was sitting beside Sansa, his lute in hand, his green eyes brighter than Jaime could recall ever seeing them, a dopy grin plastered on his face as he looked to Sansa as if she were the muses come alive. Sansa sang her last note and opened her watering ocean blue eyes, smiling down at his cousin. The young squire and the lovely little lady, shining in copper and gold, both doe-y and dewy in their youth, untainted by the burdens that haunted Jaime nightly, their smiles as easy and genuine as his hadn’t been for decades- looked like the perfect match. Jaime felt the familiar fire of rage churning in his stomach.

‘Sansa your voice…it is from the Gods. You are blessed by the Old and the New. It is deep and light. You are exceptionally talented at the high harp as well. Your parents must be mighty proud! How did your father ever bare giving you away…to my notorious cousin nonetheless!’ Lancel jested in good humour. Jaime felt his hand twitching to reach for his sword. This callow boy, a shallow shadow of himself- he DARED call HIS wife so familiarly? 

Sansa made an indignant noise before laughing at his jest and hitting his arm playfully. Jaime felt his anger threatening to burst out of his gut. Was she flirting with his bumbling fool of a cousin of all people? Was she attracted to him? He was of age with her and he supposed young girls like his wife might find a BOY like Lancel attractive. But she was HIS lover. But then so was Cersei…and she took Robert to bed willingly- just to teach him a lesson. For what purpose, he still did not know. Would Sansa do the same? He had behaved terribly with her last night…but she was his WIFE damn it! HIS! 

‘LANCEL!’ Jaime barked and watched with a satisfied grin as the boy jumped out of his seat and stood up straight, whilst Sansa simply looked up at him and smiled. Her smile was more open when directed at him- he noticed that but was too angry to smile back. He strode towards the pair.

‘What are you doing in my chambers early in the morning cousin?’ Jaime asked curtly. 

‘I…I…I waa…a message! I was delivering a message from the Queen.’ Lancel paused and looked up at Jaime and suddenly felt the room temperature had increased ten folds. 

‘WELL? Did you deliver it to my wife boy? Or is that also something you are slow at?’

Sansa gasped at Jaime’s harsh tone at poor cousin Lancel. She knew Jaime had been angry last night and she had been unable to calm him, and now Lancel bore the brunt of it.

‘My lord, it was my fault cousin Lancel was delayed. I was about to practice my music and asked him to accompany me when I saw his lute. My apologies to both of you, I am sorry the music disturbed your sleep my lord.’ Sansa stuttered out with nervous quickness, to assuage any conflict between cousins on her account, but then shrank back when her husband glared at her intervening. 

Lancel seeing Sansa shrink back, sorrow glazing her downcast eyes, he felt his heart clench. He understood his cousin’s reaction, the jealousy; he was flirting with Sansa. But she barely seemed to understand he was. Her response was courteous and kind. She only had eyes for one man and to Lancel’s lamentable fortune, he was not the one whose name made Sansa Lannister blush. He felt angry at his cousin’s harsh behaviour with his wife and sorry that he had somehow contributed to it. 

‘No, my lady, it is I who is sorry, I should not have intruded on your morning together. I will be on my way then.’ Lancel said politely before turning to leave but not before giving Sansa one final lingering glance that made Jaime fantasize about slowly taking each ligament in the foolish boy’s body apart. He was even more annoyed by the two defending the other and wondered when such informality had developed. 

‘WAIT! You forgot to deliver the message meant for my ears COUSIN.’ Jaime spat out right before Lancel was about to exit.

Lancel sighed. Great, the last thing he needed was to be on Jaime’s list of men he wished dead. He really should control his instincts around Sansa, as it is he and the queen…

‘Her Grace, wishes for you and your wife to break your fast with herself, the King and her children since you could not dine with them last night.’ 

Jaime smirked- so Cersei wished to rub last night in his face, does she? He walked to where Sansa was quietly standing beside the harp, hands clasped together, eyes downcast and slid his hands firmly around her waist pulling her flush against him. Sansa squeaked in surprise but quietly allowed for her husband’s touch on her body. He had been so angry and emotional the night before, she had feared his anger at her would persist and she would be bereft of his touch for a long time. She looked to his eyes, hoping to see softness returned to them but was greeted by anger ill-matched with the gentle smile he wore. Sansa was once again confused by her volatile husband and said a quick prayer to the Mother to give her a woman’s charms and affection so that she may appease her husband’s anger.

‘Well cousin, tell my sweet sister and her royal husband that my new wife and I take our duty to uphold the His Grace’s royal decree very seriously and as such will be very busy all day trying to make the next generation of Lannister heirs and will thus have to decline the dining offer.’ Jaime tightened his grip on Sansa, nuzzling against her hair to emphasize his point whilst she blushed head to toe in deep red at the implications of his statement, her eyes enlarged in shock. Lancel quickly turned his face to the door, running out as quick as he could.

Jaime unwound his hands from Sansa’s waist and turned, taking a few steps in trying to calm the rage that stormed within him but was unable to walk away from her. He didn’t understand his jealous rage. He knew it was misdirected. He knew his wife had done nothing to deserve the rage he was feeling. He’d even conceded to himself that if Sansa wanted to find love and a lover outside their marriage, he would never stop her. He had Cersei and despite of their mad rage, they’d never give the other up. He’d always come back to her. He could not give Sansa his undivided heart, none of it was his to give. But in this short span of time, having Sansa’s undivided affection, the way her eyes unguardedly looked upon him as if he was the answer to all her questions, the way she only saw him and none other, it made him want to possess her in a way he could never possess Cersei. He knew it was unfair and he didn’t give a damn- Sansa Stark was his, everything of hers belonged to him now and NOONE else. He could not quell the sea of insecurities that rose when he saw her with that clumsy mummer’s lion, when he saw that stack of hay pretending to be gold take a part of something that belonged to him. 

Sansa stood there confused and embarrassed at what had passed. She wanted to ask Jaime whether she’d done something to displease him or if there was something she could do to comfort him. He had been incensed since he came in last night and had unwittingly injured her when she’d tried to comfort him. He had even slept in his solar instead of their bed, which terribly saddened Sansa. She’d never felt so alone as she’d felt on that bed last night. It was her duty to lessen his sadness and more than that she wanted to.

‘My lord, is everything…would it be prudent to…’ Sansa was cut off when Jaime suddenly grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her into the nearest pillar. His eyes were blazing with cold rage, his muscles flexing as his grip on Sansa’s shoulders tightened and loosened punctuated by short angry breathes. She winced and shrank back with the instinctive fear of lion’s prey, looking down at her husband’s naked chest as she tried to swallow her fears.

‘Sansa…what do you think you were doing with Lancel?’ Jaime spat out in tight rage. His wife looked at him in utter confusion.

‘My lord I…was just…I was practising my music when cousin Lancel came by…I apologise if…you were disturbed. I will not practise in the mornings if it bothers you! I will not sing anymore if it’s an inconvenience,’ Sansa stuttered out sadly. She was confused, he’d enjoyed her singing on their first night together. Perhaps because he had a lot of wine to drink. Perhaps, sobriety dulled his tolerance for it. Her music was her comfort and passion…but…she didn’t want to displease her husband over something as small as her music. She remembered King Robert and the Queen then. She didn’t want unhappiness and strain in her marriage…not over music. If Jaime didn’t like her singing, she would stop.

Jaime cursed himself mentally, realizing Sansa had no idea what his insinuations implied. She was so innocent, she was not inclined to raise his jealousy, she was just doing what she always does. But the boy…he wants her! Jaime could see it etched on his face, in his eyes. But…Sansa didn’t want him. He should not be charging and abusing his wife because a man desires her but…he could not let her go, she was HIS, everything she does should be only for him. 

He loosened his grip on Sansa’s shoulder and pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the lemon and lavender smell that soothed him. Jaime could feel her small hands stroking his back gently- ‘Gods, she feels so GOOD,’ he thought to himself, before leaning further in to kiss the junction between her neck and shoulder. He smiled when his little wife sighed and moaned softly at his touch. ‘Only for me, no other man will ever hear her pleasure,’ he vowed to himself as he kissed up the column of her neck, all the way to her ears.

‘I like your singing Sansa,’ Jaime whispered in her ears and hid his face in her hair. ‘I don’t want to share your songs with anyone else Sansa. I hate that Lancel heard you sing. I don’t want…promise me…no other man should hear you sing. Your voice…it’s like peace. Your MY wife,’ he said it so softly and hesitantly that Sansa was not even sure she heard him. But she remained still in her position momentarily before reaching fingers out to gently stroke his curls. Her husband had asked her for something, for the first time; she could barely control the rush of warmth through her heart- Sansa would’ve given him anything in her power then. She didn’t quite understand why he’d asked for such a promise- she rarely sang in the presence of others- but she would give him her word nonetheless.

‘Jaime’s song…from this breathe till my last.’ He heard Sansa whisper back to him and Jaime moved back to gaze upon her face- a warm smile grazing her lips and her eyes glistening. He had expected her to sooth him, perhaps laugh at his childish request. He wagers he’d have joined in with her laughter. But he never expected her to take him seriously- not in this. And yet, here they were, his wife looked at him resolutely with her watering blue eyes, having managed to somehow surprise him once again. She brought her hands to cup his face, stroking his unshaven face with terrible gentleness. ‘I thought I had angered you…that you hated my singing…since last night…then now…but if this is what you want, I promise you- all of Sansa’s songs will only be Jaime’s song, no other man will ever hear me sing; upon a Stark’s honour.’ 

Jaime looked upon his wife’s teary eyes, her fingers stroking him with gentleness and her voice trembling in seriousness and sighed. This was exactly what he wanted but it frustrated him nonetheless. ‘Why was she so gentle? Did she not have any will?’ He pulled back from Sansa and took a seat next to her high harp.

Exasperated, he asked, ‘Sansa why do give in to my demands so easily? Why do you not fight when I’m being so silly? You are too good, too compliant to me little wife.’

Sansa looked to him confused but walked towards him and sat on her knees at his foot. She took his face in her hands and kissed him below the lips.

‘Why must I be difficult about this? You are my husband and this is the first thing you have ever asked- how can it possibly be silly to me? I would give up all songs had you asked- perhaps I would have been a bit more difficult about it, but I would do it. I’m not a difficult person my lord. There are bigger battles to face in life than singing to entertain men who are not you. I have no wish to please anyone else.’ Jaime sighed in defeat at the completely logical explanation of his wife. How could he deny her will when that was something he wanted? He didn’t want her to sing in front of other men and deep inside he was thrilled that she had no such desires either. He reached out to caress her rosy cheek and she leaned in to his touch, closing her eyes.

‘I guess I expected more of that infamous wolfsblood- like your Aunt Lyanna. I had met her once at Riverrun when your mother was still betrothed to your Uncle Brandon. Such a feisty young woman,’ Jaime reminisced. 

Sansa felt a little uncomfortable then, the conversation between the King and Queen still playing fresh in her mind as she silently hoped that she wouldn’t be yet another woman who had to compete with her dead aunt’s shadow.

‘Did you desire of my aunt as well my lord?’ Sansa asked blushing at her own audacious question but with clear trepidation in her voice. Jaime simply laughed at her insinuation but decided to play along and tease his wife a bit. 

‘Ah yes! Lady Lyanna Stark! The winter-rose beauty of Harrenhal! Well little wife, she was very beautiful. I doubt there was a single man in Westeros who did not desire the hot-blooded fierce beauty of the North,’ Jaime answered very seriously.

‘Yes, they all desired her, their desires killed her and they all died,’ Sansa replied more seriously than any girl her age should be capable of being. ‘There it is, the Stark sobriety,’ Jaime thought sullenly but could not help but smile back when he saw his wife smile brightly at him. 

‘Not all of them little wife. Robert still lives- he’s the King.’ Jaime could not quite keep the disdain from his voice as he spoke the man’s name. Sansa rose from her position and sat back down on her husband’s lap, draping one arm over his shoulder and using the other to comb through his soft gold curls.

‘Is the King truly living though? Sure, he has everything- a wife he neglects in favour of the dead, children he cares less about than a dead lover; even Myrcella I’m inclined to think, brothers he’d rather had died than his brothers at arm, a friend he is willing to lose over his resentment for the dead and a kingdom he wishes had died with the dead. He cares not a stitch about anyone living more than he does those who have deceased. Is that what life looks like? He carries the dead with him, leaving the living to die every day around him. The King could die tomorrow and he would not have any qualms about it. And neither would anyone around him it seems,’ Sansa squeaked as she said the last bit, looking at Jaime, terrified as she spoke treason.

‘I’m sorry my lord! I didn’t mean…it’s just that…well, he treats your sister so terribly…and his sons with mostly indifference…I…I am sorry if I over spoke!’

Jaime looked at his wife with both admiration at her quiet intelligence and some semblance of sadness at her accurate assessment- Cersei’s nobler traits HAD died a bit everyday with Robert. As had her happiness. Sometimes he wondered if anyone, including him, besides her children, even gave Cersei any happiness or was it all just momentary satisfaction and a smug secret rebuttal to Robert’s transgressions. 

‘You didn’t Sansa, you speak the truth,’ Jaime replied, leaning into his wife’s comforting touch.

‘I have no desire for fierce beauty that move men to war my lord. I enjoy courtly intrigue, beauty and admiration well enough. But I don’t desire them; I only desire for desire from you. I wish to make you happy Jaime, not be difficult over things that do not matter to me…I’m sorry if that sounds silly, I just don’t…’ Sansa was cut off as Jaime kissed her, deep and long.

He broke the kiss when they were both breathless and satisfied, wondering what it was about Sansa that calmed him and compelled him to care; she was an admirable young girl, no doubt, but he was sure he’d met other admirable women but none had made him feel like…well, he didn’t know what it was, it was not exactly simple, only that it was not unpleasant.

‘Your beauty far surpasses that of Lyanna Stark’s sweet wife. I want you Sansa; maybe I shouldn’t- there are more years between us than you’ve lived- but I desire you little wife,’ Jaime admitted. Suddenly, he saw his wife’s eyes start to tear up. Sansa was overcome with relief. She had been so scared seeing the King and Queen and then Jaime’s anger last night- she was flooded with relief to hear him say that he wanted her. 

‘Sansa, why do you cry?’ Jaime was genuinely confused but his wife just smiled at him and shook her head. Sansa pulled him to her bosom and kissed the top of his head as Jaime nuzzled into the softness of her breast. 

‘Would you like to spend the day with me?’ Jaime suddenly asked. ‘Just us two? Let’s just fuck the court and the King and our families.’ The words spilled out of his mouth before he even realized what he’d asked. ‘Well, Cersei will definitely kill me now,’ he thought but pushed it back in his mind as Sansa swatted smiled and softly nodded her reply.

 

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The afternoon sun was at its height atop the little hill the Red Keep, where Jaime Lannister lay lazing under the shade of an old oak tree, with his head on his wife’s lap. Although the shade was cool and the breeze pleasant, streams of light penetrating through the thick of leaves kept dancing on his closed eyelids, preventing him from sleeping. His eyes fluttered open to see Sansa engrossed in the book she was reading. They’d spent the entire day in each other’s company and during that time Jaime had learnt quite a bit about his wife: She is always empathetic. She is very pious- keeps to the Sevens but prays to the Old as well- but she didn’t mind that he didn’t believe. ‘My faith will be enough for the both of us,’ she’d said determinedly, which made Jaime laugh a bundle. She is passionate in her convictions (and in their bed), even tempered, easy to laugh and easy to please. She had a fondness for lemon cakes and the shade of blue which matched her eyes. She was also quite perceptive of the people around her and had intelligent opinions that weren’t limited by the stringent code of honour her kin adhered to- her kindness led her sense of justice. And from the looks of it, she was an enthusiastic reader as well. All in all, she was a perfect lady and Jaime was quite sure that even if Tywin Lannister had scanned the seven kingdoms himself, he wouldn’t have been able to find his son a more ideal wife. But she was wasted on him and the more time he spent with her the less he could digest the guilt of having been handed such an undeserved prize. 

‘What are you reading with such rapture little wife?’ Jaime asked as he locked his fingers into the thick red mass of her hair. ‘It doesn’t look to be a heady romance- a rather plain cover for that. My father reads such books- books on ruling and strategies.’ He tugged at her hair, pulling Sansa’s face down closer to his. ‘Are you planning to send me off to a grand adventure filled with blood-shed and warpaths little wife?’

Whilst Jaime had meant to ask the question in jest as flirtation, Sansa suddenly became serious and crinkled her nose and shut her book, setting it aside. ‘I could never want to send you on warpath. Regardless, of how much glory was at stake. I don’t understand much of bloodshed and adventures I am afraid. I have only imagined the simple life of a simple lady, who runs her castle, her people and her family with a calm mind and soft heart.’ She bit her lips and stayed silent for a bit, afraid that her husband would think her silly.

Jaime never intended to make her feel simple minded. He understood well enough how that felt having been surrounded by Cersei, Tyrion and Tywin all his life. 

‘Sansa, I did not mean to make you feel…lacking in anything- I like your simplicity and honesty little wife. I like the fact that you can be careful and courteous in court but simple and honest in our bed chambers. You’ve not asked me to be anything more than I am comfortable being and I promise- if you don’t ask me to change, I will never ask it of you.’

Sansa’s large blue eyes widened in surprise and she blinked rapidly at him before averting her gaze and softly speaking. 

‘You do not find me silly and weak? My siblings would all laugh at me; even Robb. I think my brother Jon thought me rather silly for liking music and dancing and stories, more than glory and swords and honour. I was never close to my sister or Bran- they were all part of one big pack- fierce fighters, wolves on glory paths to great adventures…and I was… well not the lone wolf, Robb and Jon were always protective, Bran always kind, Arya always ready to squabble and Rickon- well he was my baby I suppose. But I was never quite a part of the pack either. I am… just different. I am happy with the adventures in my books. I do not expect them in life, I am not made for them…I suppose we do not have many things in common. But I will try my lord- I have read about great wars in history and of battles. As the wife of a great knight, I will support you to my best ability- whatever is your cause, it will be mine.’

Jaime smiled up at her and pushed the thick mane of red shading him from the sun, behind her ears. ‘You really are a sweet girl Sansa. Being a lady does not make you silly or weak. If I recall earlier, you have steel in you. You are kind, loyal and you defend those you consider your own. I am a killer little wife, I could use someone to curb my blood lust. It matters not if you don’t want blood, war and conquest in life, I think my appetite for that is enough for the both of us. We can find other common interests- you like music…and…reading books?’

Sansa nodded excitedly- ‘Do you as well?’ 

Jaime smirked, ‘Well, I’m afraid my charm on you would wear off entirely if I started singing ballads.’

‘Who said I’m charmed already?’ Sansa bantered back.

‘Oh, dear then I must say, your quite passionate in our bed for a girl unaffected by my charms little wife. What were you moaning earlier…ah yes, if I recall, it was something like- Jaime! Jaime! Jaaaiimmmmeeee!’

Sansa blushed hard and hit his arm playfully but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. Jaime liked the clear ring of her laughter. There was no sarcasm in it. There was no politic in it. It was real and easy. He did think Sansa’s lack of wilfulness and dutiful obedience to him would be tiring but her easy and fierce affection was something to behold, something to covet, something- he begrudgingly had to admit- he wanted. ‘And it is mine now, she is mine now. She will always be mine and only mine. She will be in my bed and have my children. No-one else can have her.’ Jaime thought selfishly, again surprising himself with how much he enjoyed that.

‘I have never been much for songs and I am afraid I have little talent with reading. That Tywin Lannister trait belongs entirely to my brother Tyrion. But I am interested in YOUR singing and stories.’ 

For a second Sansa thought he was jesting- ‘Really? My brothers all just seemed so uninterested but…you want to hear me…’ she murmured.

Jaime felt embarrassed for a second at Sansa’s statement but then smiled at her. He looked to the skies- thoughts consuming him for a second. ‘My mother used to tell me tales and sing to me when I was a child. It’s one of my few memories of her…you…your voice reminds me of her.’ 

Sansa deeply inhaled and smiled- brighter than the sun, calmer than the summer breeze, her hands continued to caress through Jaime’s golden curls. ‘What story would you like to hear? I have an old Northron horror tale I could tell or maybe one of books from Lys, with the kind of bawdy humour you seem to sport so well my lord,’ she japed with a hint of reserved flirtation that was not lost on her husband.

Jaime looked at her and smirked. ‘You read crude books of Lysene origins? How very dubious of my proper wife! How did you ever manage with that Septa of yours breathing down your neck?’

Sansa flushed as she tried to explain- ‘Well there were books in the library that we weren’t allowed to read- father always said they were too violent. I was so very curious and when we were ten, my friend Jeyne and I convinced Theon- my father’s ward- to steal any one of the books for us in exchange for a kiss. He stole this terribly fantastic but…inappropriate, book for us. Jeyne kissed him and then when my turn came, I kissed him on the forehead and ran with the book! When he found me the next day and demanded his due, I told him that if he ever asked for the kiss again, I’d tell father he gave me a book about Lysene whores. He’d blanched at that and never spoke of it again!’

Jaime chuckled at her story. ‘Well! It seems my little wife is a lot craftier than I thought! Don’t you Starks always keep your words?’

‘Yes, I suppose it was rather cruel. I didn’t mean to be crafty I just…’

Jaime quirked his brow, ‘So you would’ve rather kissed him?’

‘No, my lord! I just meant…’ Sansa’s explanation was interrupted by Jaime’s unabashed laughter. 

‘I am simply jesting Sansa. I am a Lannister and now, so are you. We appreciate crafty- there’s nothing wrong with being crafty to protect oneself. And I’m quite glad the boy didn’t kiss you. I’d have had to kill him myself then. I am quite the jealous man you know.’

Sansa smiled again and bent forward to kiss him deeply, moaning into his mouth as he slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. 

‘Perhaps you can show me all you learnt in your scandalous Lysene escapades once we are in Casterly Rock little wife.’

Sansa reddened but his statement caught her attention. ‘Are we leaving for Casterly Rock soon?’ She asked softly. She could’ve sworn a dark shadow of grief passed her husband’s face at her query, as he answered with a tight nod. He must be sad to leave- the city has been his home for most of his life, he will probably miss his brother and the queen and his niece and nephews and friends. To travel to a home, he hasn’t known for years, with a wife who was all but a stranger…it must be hard for him.

‘Are you upset to be leaving with me my lord?’ Jaime looked at her quizzically. ‘I just meant, it must be hard for you to leave here- it’s been your home for many years and your siblings all live here.’

He simply nodded and Sansa understood not to prod him any further on his feelings but she asked him about the Rock instead.

‘What is it like in the Westerlands? What is your lord father like? I know of his stories but they rarely live upto the reality. And what will we be doing there?’

Jaime pondered over her curiosity. It wouldn’t do to scare his new wife with…well whatever it is that’s Tywin Lannister, but he didn’t want her to have any illusions. She would have to deal with him soon enough. 

‘Well…my father, let us just say that songs do him justice. He’s a stern man who values intelligence above all. As for the Rock, well with my father alive, I believe we will simply loiter about the castle, gaze across the sunset sea and live out the rest of our days- rich and happy and warm…’

‘With many little ones running all over the castle!’ Sansa blushed as soon as she realized what she’d just said. ‘I mean…we…I hope…I mothered Rickon for so long, if gods be willing…I…’ 

Jaime knitted his eyebrows then. He had never thought about children before. He had three; they were his seed but Robert’s spawn. Cersei asked not to look and he never thought twice about it. They were nothing more than Cersei’s wish for him…only Cersei’s. Even when there was a mistaken glance, all he saw was Robert and Cersei- in Joffrey’s vindictive fury, in Myrcella’s returned adoration of her ‘father’ and in Tommen’s quick to forget fancies. He’d never looked to find any similarities to himself. Never. But any children with Sansa would be HIS…Lannisters. Fear gripped his heart then. 

He remembered the child…Sansa’s blood…the one he had crippled to protect his own. How could he possibly believe HIS children would not be marked when he nearly caused Ned Stark to lose one of his, when he failed to prevent death from marking Rhaegar’s children? When his kin and banners had killed the children, he was meant to protect- for a frail and poisonous thing as power; a fat drunkard’s crown and Cersei’s thirst for titles. But… an heir was expected- it was the whole reason for his father’s enthusiasm for this marriage. The price of his brother’s life. And this was the first thing his wife had expressed any desire to have. 

He sat up and looked towards Sansa. Her blush at her own suggestion had spread a light rose from her cheeks to the top of her breasts. Gods she was quite the sight, at least he wouldn’t have any troubles giving her what she wanted. Despite the nagging guilt in his head. But this was what they all wanted right? Even Cersei? Her rejection earlier still stung Jaime’s heart. For fuck sake, this was her orchestration! Now she was acting like Jaime had tricked her to marry Sansa. He couldn’t help it that he was a man and had enjoyed bedding a beautiful willing girl- especially given how kind and passionate Sansa was! Shit this was all such a mess. Well, at least he could give Sansa what she wanted. He would give her children to fill her life as he finds his way back to his sweet sister, his other half. 

Jaime pulled Sansa into his lap and lifted her chin to meet her eyes. ‘You want a cub in your belly little wolf?’ His wife cast her eyes downward, blushing even harder as she nodded her head. 

‘If it would please my lord…it is my duty as your wife to have your children…and I…please do not misunderstand, I was very excited to leave Winterfell and come to Kings Landing…to be a princess… but now… my father does not seem to care, Arya hates me, I miss my mother and brothers and I miss my wolf, my Lady- and she’s dead because of me…I just…I’m alone and I want a family my lord.’ Jaime flinched at her open confession- lonesome. Jaime remembered how that felt…at her age, he was lonely too- the lone brother of the Kingsguard, the lone witness to madness. It must be a cruel jape of the gods for him to be saddled with a girl so honest and loyal when these were the things he could not offer her, not with Cersei around- he loved his twin as keenly as he loved breathing.

He’d known about the wolf; Cersei had asked him to punish his little good sister for her wolf after Sansa’s had been killed in its stead- he’d thought it a terrible thing to do. But his sister was nothing if not terrible and he loved her for all of it. But now, looking at Sansa’s eyes clouded with unshed tears, he felt the remorse of Cersei’s cruelty jab at him. It had clearly devastated Sansa more than she let on; the look in her eyes when she mentioned the wolf was that of a mother having lost her babe- harrowing. 

Jaime reached his hand to cup Sansa’s face, stroking her high cheekbones, trailing his thumb across her cheeks to her lips. He smirked when he saw Sansa’s breathe quicken and smoothed his hand down from her face and lips to her neck, lightly skimming the prints of his hand on her milky skin- blue and purple- standing ugly and proud. He was revolted and he was stirred and he didn’t know what that made him. ‘Anybody who is not us is the enemy…we will destroy her with all our enemies’- Cersei’s voice kept playing at the back of his mind. This was his mark on her, not him destroying her. But was his mark destroying her? Has it already started? He didn’t want to destroy her. He didn’t want to destroy anyone who was not a threat. His siblings always thought him simple-minded, maybe he was. But he couldn’t imagine, how his sweet wife could ever be a threat. 

‘How many little cubs would my wife like then?’ He asked grazing her neck with his right index whilst his left rubbed soothing circles to the small of her back. ‘One?’ He kissed her neck. ‘Two?’ He kissed her collar bone. ‘Three?’ Then right below there. ‘Four?’ And Jaime kissed further down till he reached the neckline of her dress counting…five, six, then seven and eight. Sansa’s breathily said yes again and again and again till Jaime pushed her body onto the downy green grass, caging hers with his own. Sansa let out a small yelp before relaxing into his arms as he continued to string his fingers through her red waves. ‘Slow there, little wife! I have counted to eight already, I may be too old to give you many more!’ He joked before thinking back on his wife- so young and so sweet, much more so than Cersei or his lady mother had been when they had their first children and whilst his sister had lost the child, his mother had lost her life in birthing his baby brother. He didn’t want either for Sansa. 

‘Birthing is hard Sansa, especially for one so young.’ His eyes took on a sad gleam then, whereas it’d been playful only seconds past. Sansa reached out her hand to smooth through the hair on the nape of his neck, as she’d done to Rickon when she meant to sooth. Jaime closed his eyes for a second before regaining his playful tone. ‘You only need to birth the Lannister heir sweet girl. Not our entire cavalry!’

Sansa laughed loudly then, snorting in the most unlady-like fashion. It made Jaime laugh even harder. ‘Well, as many as we can then,’ she said, ‘You know my house words- Winter is coming. And I know, you all think us Northerners savage and grim. But we say it because it teaches us the importance of the collective, of family, of love.’ Her hands reached to cup his face then. ‘My father always says, in winter, we must protect ourselves, look out for one another, for when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. The larger the pack, the stronger the chances of survival. I want us to have a large family with many children- so they will always have each other for support, wisdom and protection. You attacked my father and nearly went to war for yours. Now imagine what you could do with much more of that love’ 

‘You really are a wonder Sansa. I attacked your father and you say that like it was but a scuffle between little boys.’ 

‘Husband, you attacked my father and he rewarded you with his daughter for your valour it seems. And…I understand why you did it. You love your little brother, your family…your pack…or pride I suppose. I know I would do what I thought would keep my pack safe. Even for Arya, though I don’t think she would believe that.’ Sansa said sadly. 

‘And am I a part of this pack of yours little wife?’ Jaime asked soothingly, drawing slow circles on her hips.

‘Of course my lord. You are my family, my pack. You will always protect me and any number of babes we are blessed with.’ Sansa said that like it was the simplest fact in the world. She reminded him awfully of himself then, before duty and honour and oaths took up arms against each other and he decided to fuck it all. It made his gut clench up.

‘Well, the wolf and the lion may have more in common than we thought Sansa. Lannisters always protect their own.’ Jaime replied with a smile. ‘And when I fail, our cubs will protect you Sansa, their Lannister name will protect you, as it will protect them.’ He promised to himself- this was an oath he would keep to his end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i try to keep them in character but go ooc at times. Please give feedback on whether you thought jaime was a bit too ooc. i'll try to reign it in. i dont try as hard with sansa as i imagine her to be like this as a grown version of herself. but again if you disagree, sound off in the comments!


	6. What We Created

Brienne felt slightly anxious as she walked up to Jaime’s door. She needed to know if he was…if there was ANY hope at all. She felt this need as keenly as she felt dread at what she would see inside. Sansa had been in the room tending to her husband for the past three days. She’d barely left to eat or sleep or change. Watching her lady’s devotion to her husband had left a hole inside Brienne’s heart where some kind of hope used to reside, hope for what she could never pinpoint. There was hardly a woman who could hold a candle to Sansa Stark’s beauty. The only two coming to thought were Cersei Lannister and Daenerys Stormborn. Three of the most beautiful women in the kingdom and Jaime had two of them as lovers. She knew she stood no chance there. 

Jaime was not a man easily swayed by beauty but Sansa’s had moved him to her bed- she’d liked to believe that. She’d liked to believe that his loyalty to Sansa were for the vows he honoured, for the children she bore him. That his friendship belonged to her just as his love had belonged to his sister. She hadn’t held onto any illusions of Jaime returning her romantic feelings or ever looking at her the way he looked at Sansa. She had a wild man look at her that way and she couldn’t ever match that look with anything Jaime threw at her. But she believed herself to be his confidante. His friendship and secrets, she had.

But overtime, it had become explicitly clear to anyone who’d cared to look before making assumptions- Jaime’s everything belonged to Sansa. His peace, his camaraderie, his happiness, his sorrow, his lust, his anger, his children and his betrayals. Everything. Anyone else was just a replacement till he could go back to his wife. Sansa shunned him and kept him at bay; her ice wall of indifferent disdain had seemed so well practiced that Brienne could have never second guessed it as a façade- no one else did. But as soon as Jaime was injured, she saw Sansa’s coldness for what it was. Love. Love that made her sew his wounds and take to his bed, love that made her forgive him at every turn, love that made her devotion Jaime’s addiction, his place of peace and confidence. 

The realization made Brienne hesitant around the couple in a much more painfully acute way than she’d been around Renly and Margaery. She had always led her life honour bound. The lady knight knew her place. She accepted that, she accepted her role and her duty to everyone. She had even accepted her place in the heart and ardour of a strange man with fire in his hair. But that did not mean her heart ceased wanting to touch the sun and want often led to hurt. So, with no little trepidation, Brienne knocked. 

‘My lady? May I come in?’ 

‘Yes, come in. Please, Brienne.’ 

Brienne walked in at Sansa’s permission to see her lady sitting on the bed cross-legged, with her back leaning against the stonewall, Jaime’s head perched on her lap as her fingers gently stroked the golden hair on her husband’s head. She instantly felt unsettled by the beauty of the macabre scene in front of her. Jaime golden and beautiful even in sickness resting on the lap of a snow pale beauty. In her black dress and undone flowing lengths of lush red hair, Sansa looked like the picture of a mourning widow refusing to part with her beautiful lover. Like a scene out of tragedies and great romances. 

‘My lady the King…your brother and sister were concerned. You haven’t been out of the chamber much. You haven’t eaten. And they…so I…’

‘Yes, I am sorry to have concerned everyone. I will go eat.’ Sansa reassured but did not move from her place and just continued stroking her husband’s hair, her eyes trained on his unmoving face. Brienne stood there in solemn silence for a few minutes but then felt compelled to say something.

‘He will recover my Lady. He has fought hard and taken terrible wounds from the dead, yet he defeated them all…and he came out alive.’ Brienne tried to comfort her mistress, stressing her own conviction in her voice. 

‘Won’t you have a seat Brienne. Please do.’

Brienne looked awkwardly around the room before nodding and taking a seat beside Sansa. Being in the same room with Sansa and Ser Jaime felt…invasive, as if she was prying on two people’s most sacred moment of intimacy, or on two people sharing a secret.

Sansa stopped her stroking and carefully replaced the cold press on her husband’s forehead with a fresh one.

‘One more day…Sam said if he doesn’t gain consciousness in three days…You know, people often overlook me being his wife beyond the sons he put in my belly. A great mother, a gracious ruler, a proud daughter, a loving sister…I’ve even heard Lannister men call me a worthy good daughter. But nobody has ever called me a good wife. Huh! Many even believe me to be an untrue wife- with full impunity though. My husband is the Kingslayer after all. The sister fucker. He tried to kill nearly all the men in my family- my father, Robb…even a young Bran. Reasoning allows that I would be untrue to such a wretched man. But I never strayed. I never could.’ 

Brienne didn’t know what to say; she figured it would be best to just let Sansa speak.

‘It was the hardest role in my life you know. I struggled so hard. Against everyone- my family, his, him. Perhaps true love is supposed to burn in passion; I incited his passion- I have two children to prove it. I just couldn’t make him burn in it the same way I burned for him. That was always her. But still I could not hate him for it, I could not stop trying. Perhaps it makes me weak but I put aside all my own insecurities to give him peace. There must be some merit to that? I know I gave his heart some peace. I must have.’ Her lady went woefully quiet then, speaking more to herself than to Brienne. Her words seemed to purge herself of whatever it was burdening her. 

‘I soothed his sadness and pacified his rage. I knew he laid with his sister and yet I opened my arms and my body whenever he needed me and never complained when he didn’t. I don’t know what that makes me. I spent my mornings to evenings in his hearth- tending to his sons, tending to his family, tending to him, waiting for him. I love him. Despite everything, I tried to be a good wife. But I failed. The last thing I said to him as he left to fight the undead in Winterfell- I hope you die. What kind of a wife says that?’ 

Brienne looked at Sansa- shocked and suddenly acutely aware of how young she was- only one and twenty. With the body of a mother, two young children at her skirts, a commanding presence and ice in her voice, it was hard to think of Sansa Stark as having vulnerabilities such as a misspoken moment of anger. But the truth was- she was still just a young woman. Younger than Brienne, had experienced far more brutality than Brienne and had loved in a marriage more complex than most. What lay beneath her was far more complex (or simple) than anyone could have wagered. 

‘I didn’t mean it. I don’t think I did. I was angry. The gods rarely ever listen to me…not when I prayed for him to come back to me, not when I prayed for the war between Starks and Lannisters to not happen, not when I prayed for his and Cersei’s relationship to be a lie, not when I prayed for my mother and siblings, not even when I prayed to keep my children safe. Why now?’ 

A moment of silence passed between them as Brienne began to understand the gravity of her lady’s confession and it made her terribly uncomfortable. She had to wonder why she was on the receiving end of her words. 

‘My lady…you do not need to explain this to me.’ 

Sansa said nothing. Only stared at her husband’s body lying on the bed. 

‘Why me, my lady? Why do you say this…to me? I have seen you deny everyone else an explanation. So, why me?’ Brienne asked trying to work through this bout of confession from her usually poised but distant mistress. 

‘Because I trust you. You protected me at my weakest when most would have seen my children and I dead despite your…feelings. Because I wanted to talk with someone other than me who loves him. And you do. You love him too. He’s not blood nor redeemed nor past redemption to you. You saw the man I saw- a man who tried to do his best for his loved ones and the people around him when he could. Because I needed to speak with someone who prays for him to live for no other reason than him being him.’ 

‘My lady I…’ Brienne fumbled trying to come up with an explanation for the truth, or lie and deny.

‘Don’t. It’s alright. I hold no ill-will, nor am I as jealous a wife as he is a husband, jealousy was not a luxury I could afford in our marriage’ Sansa chuckled at that, but the sadness in her tone was not lost on Brienne. 

‘I’m not saying this to be unkind. It’s easy to love him when there is nothing to lose for it. I lost nearly everything to him though…very nearly lost my children even. He gave them to me and his…kin nearly stripped me of them. Was it wrong of me to hold some anger in my heart? Was I a bad wife simply because I lashed out? Is that why the Gods punish me? My father died because I questioned his judgement and did not obey him as a good daughter should. And now…’

‘Why do you hide it from him Sansa? Why be cold to him when he’s with you?’ Brienne asked confused.

‘I don’t owe you any explanation for that,’ Sansa replied coldly, immediately regretting her shields that immediately went up. She had chosen to open-up to Brienne. She should be able to speak to SOMEONE. Everyone she could speak to was dead and Jaime was something of a sore topic she couldn’t share with her sister. 

‘I’m sorry my lady it was not my place to ask. I will leave you be.’ The lady-knight awkwardly got up to leave, embarrassed by her own questioning.

‘Lady Brienne wait. I am sorry. That was…rude. I didn’t mean…I just...’

Sansa remained silent for what could have been a moment or several, Brienne was not sure.

‘I hide it because when I am with him, it all comes back to me. My father, my brothers, my mother, the lies, the insecurities, my destruction. I have love and I have anger. Sometimes they become so indistinguishable in my head that I can’t...I NEVER wanted him dead. Not even on the worst of days in Kings Landing. Thinking of him, that I hated him, that I loved him, that his family took everyone I loved away, that he gave me the children I love- it gave me strength…But every time I forgave him something, I lost a bit of myself to him. Now all everyone sees is either a girl he set aside or a kept woman who sets his treachery aside. Of poor character or weak character. ‘Weak heart, weak mind’ Arya used to say. That’s who they see when they look at me, past the respect for myself, for him, for Jon, for Tywin Lannister or Ned Stark, it’s there. Sometimes it’s all I can see reflecting in the mirror. A stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns. Yet I could never hate him. That would be SO EASY. But I cannot. I can still be angry though, can I not?’

Brienne nodded then, finally understanding a fraction of what lay beneath the silken dark of intimacy between the Kingslayer and his wife. 

‘He will be fine Sansa. He must’, she reassured herself as much as his wife.

She smiled her serene terrible smile then.

‘Cersei told me once that she and Jaime came into the world together and they would leave it together. Now she’s dead and my husband lays following her. He’s had much worse wounds. And yet, he lays here fevered from a festering scratch he would have scoffed at. A wound that had been cleaned- suddenly fevered him only a few days after we received words of Cersei’s death. Give me one reason to think Cersei was not right all along; that, all this, everything we have been through is not one big jest- a final win added to her trove. Give me one reason to think I won’t be the wife he set aside, left for his sister, yet again.’ 

Brienne was about to reply to Sansa’s despair when they were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Tyrion Lannister accompanying Leonel and Lowell. 

‘Am I interrupting good sister?’

‘No, my dear brother. Lady Brienne and I were just speaking. Was there something you wished to converse upon?’

Both the boys rushed into Sansa’s arms immediately, leaving their uncle’s side. Sansa hugged her sons and kissed the top of their heads. Lowell climbed onto the bed sitting next to where his father’s head rested, whilst Leonel took a step back from her, not wanting to get too close to the bed she was on.

Tyrion smiled at the sight in front of him- his family. Then his eyes flickered to his brother, lying unconscious and fevered on the bed. He looked deathly pale and the room stank of death- tonight or never. The thought made Tyrion go cold to the very core of him. The truth was, he never expected to see his brother come out alive from these wars. Not after everything he’d done wrong, not even after everything he’d done right. He expected Jaime knew the same. He’d figured his brother would die in war, in a blaze of glory and he would receive the body with pride, his head held high. See his good sister and nephews hold their heads high and receive him with pride- past lamentations ended, lose threads tied…closure. For Jaime and the little family, he couldn’t keep. 

His brother had always been Tyrion’s protector, invincible in his eyes. Even more so than their father. But seeing him withering so close to death made Tyrion feel nauseas and out of breath- too acutely aware of mortality in a way that receiving his martyred body wouldn’t have been. He realized then- there would be no closure in death, only what ifs and anger. He saw it in Sansa’s dimming eyes as she looked at his brother, at her silent refusal to leave his bed chambers, at Leonel’s careful distance from his father- he didn’t even look at him, only kept his gaze to his mother. He briefly wondered if this was what a young Tywin Lannister would have been like with his soft beautiful lady mother when faced with a disgraced father with poor judgement. He suddenly felt a strange bout of sadness for the father he’d killed, perhaps some sort of reconciliation- some understanding of the man he had been. 

He broke out of his thoughts to realize that Sansa was looking at him expectantly.

‘Nothing of import sweet sister. The children were simply insistent that they see you immediately before bed.’

The boys quietly nodded before Leonel tentatively put his hand on Sansa’s arm.

‘Are you all right mother? Uncle Jon said you haven’t eaten and we haven’t seen you much the last three days.’

Sansa brought his little hand to her lips and nodded, giving him the most reassuring smile she could muster. But Leonel knew better. Just as he knew to not press further, so instead he simply nodded.

‘Mother, is father going to die?’ Lowell asked quietly, his gaze unwavering from his bed-ridden sire.

Sansa’s breath hitched. Everyone either told her he might- to write to Casterly Rock in preparation or reassured her of their hope that he wouldn’t. No-one asked her what she thought. And now faced with the question- she didn’t know how to answer. Could she tell her son that she feared his father’s fate was sealed with his vicious aunt’s death? Should she lie to him and say he wouldn’t? Could she explain to him that she wouldn’t give up hope till his last breath? That his life was as keenly connected to her as theirs was? 

‘Valar Dohaeris Lowell, all men must serve. Ser Lannister served the realm…and Valar Morghulis, all men must die.’ Leonel’s voiced solemnly, looking down to the floor. Her son was six name days old. He sounded as if he was sixty. The sobriety in his morbid words cut through Sansa’s heart and she felt bile rising up her throat. ‘It shouldn’t be like this. My son shouldn’t be speaking of his father’s death as such.’ She would rather have him crying and screeching to the high heavens. She would rather have his voice held the solemn sadness of his younger brother’s. She would rather tell him a hundred lies of comfort and reassurance than have to hear such cold sad words out of her son’s mouth. 

Sansa abruptly stood up putting Lowell down from the bed. 

‘It is late. You boys should be in bed. Your father will still be here when you wake sweetlings,’ she said looking to her sons, not missing the slight flinch and hardening of her eldest son’s jaw. His reaction was so like his father- whenever Jaime was called ‘Kingslayer’- that it made Sansa’s heart constrict painfully in her chest.

‘Dear brother, would you mind taking them to bed?’ She asked of Tyrion, knowing he would be obliged. ‘I think I will go dine and rest for a bit. Lady Brienne I trust you to stay beside Ser Jaime till I return?’ 

With Brienne’s affirmative nod, Sansa glided across the chambers towards the exit before running to the safety of her own chambers feeling unable to breathe suddenly. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once in her chambers, she began to frantically look through her closets till she came across the travelling chest resting at the absolute back end. It was one she never opened. She took it out, carrying it to her bed, frantically rummaging through some childhood trinkets from her parents and siblings, things from when her children were babes, to finally uncover the things she’d stowed away in the hidden crevices of the box. 

First was a Lannister red cloak with heavy gold embroidery- her wedding cloak, Jaime’s first endowment to her, the cloak she had covered her sons in when they’d been born. She remembered how her breath had hitched when he put the cloak around her. She remembered how she’d clutched onto it during her bedding ceremony when men had torn at her clothing. It had made her feel safe, then it made her feel the bile of betrayal, then it made her feel safe when she put Leonel in it. Wedding cloaks were supposed to symbolise the protection of her husband. His vitality securing her. She clutched onto the fine fabric now. It still felt the same, the expensive material had not denatured…then why had the protection of her marriage? 

Rummaging below the cloak, she found a scroll of canvas with a painting of herself (Lowell resting in her belly), Tyrion, Jaime, Tywin and Leonel, which had been commissioned for her son’s name day. They’d been happy then. Next to the scroll lay the gold wolf Jaime had given her when her mother and Robb had died, his mother’s emerald ring as a gift for birthing Leonel, a silver lute just because, her ribbon he’d taken as favour into their wedding tourney…Sansa wrapped it all into the red cloak and held it tight to her heart, afraid that it’d all fade away, that he’d fade if she let it go. 

The memories behind each assaulted her mind and finally she broke down, heaving tears relentlessly pouring down her face. She pressed her fingers firmly on her mouth to ensure none could hear her silent shrieks and sobs, before running to the nearest basin to empty her stomach content. The sickness reminded her that she was not alone in this. That she could not allow her grief to take over. She deeply inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, trying to calm herself before strolling towards the little altar she had created for herself. 

She had always been a pious young girl. Her faith had been tested; the gods both old and new had forsaken her prayers many a times. But sometimes, they listened. So, she lit candles and she prayed till her body caved to the slumber it much needed. 

When she opened her eyes, the sun was shining bright on her face. It was summer again. She was seated below a god tree but it was way too warm for it to be Winterfell. It was warm and she could hear laughter near her. Her hair was left down her shoulder, only the hair at front had been tied back into a single braid down her back. Subconsciously, her hand drifted to her midriff, resting where her child was growing. It felt noticeably less swollen but the swell was there none the less. She looked down at her lap to see her husband’s head resting in peaceful slumber. At a close distance, Tommen was playing with an equally blonde green-eyed child and a few kittens. Sweet Tommen and her little Leonel. Her heart lurched at the sight from a distant dream. ‘Or a distant memory’, she thought. When they’d all been happy. 

She smiled and gently began to caress through Jaime’s golden curls, taking in his peaceful visage and full beard. He looked slightly worn but content. Bending down till her ears were at his chest, she listened to his strong steady heartbeat before rousing him.

‘Jaime? Jaime? Jaime?’ his eyes fluttered open and she was greeted by the lazy smile that raised her heartbeat. He lifted his head to gently kiss her nose.

‘Look,’ she pointed towards his sons. ‘Look at what we made together.’ He looked in the direction she was pointing. Tommen was laughing his guileless laughter as Leonel was on all fours fighting Ser Pounce with his chubby hands for the laughing boy’s affections. Jaime’s smile turned into a boisterous laughter as Leo seemingly hissed at the cat, copying its antics.

Sansa laughed along with him before going quiet as they simply stared at their son. She brought her hand entwined in his towards her hardened swell. ‘My Lord, could you stay with me like this for some time? For us?’

Jaime looked confused at how small his wife’s voice seemed. ‘Where else would I go Sansa? Besides, there is nowhere else I’d rather be. I could just stay like this always.’

Sansa smiled at him when suddenly she felt a sharp jerk to her shoulder. She looked up to see the dim morn light, making her feel disoriented. When her eyes regained focus, she was still in her chambers at Dragonstone, laying at the makeshift altar there, her sister shaking her shoulders lightly in a bid to wake her. 

‘Sansa. Sansa. Sansa wake up.’ 

Sansa anxiously wondered why her sister was waking her so early. She looked up at her sister quizzically trying to hide the extreme vulnerability swelling in her chest.

‘The Kingslayer is awake. His fever broke sometime before sunrise.’ Her sister answered matter-of-factly, but the venom she usually associated with Sansa’s husband was missing. Sansa looked back at the altar where she had lit a hundred candles last night that were all somehow still lit. She nodded at her sister.

‘Please take the children to see their father Arya. And have a maid send some hot bathing water and a breakfast of plain bread and broth for the both of us in our chambers. Will Ser Jaime be requiring assistance to bathe?’

‘No I don’t think so. He seems to be well enough to walk. Miraculously healthy- fat Sam said.’

‘You shouldn’t call him that Arya. That’s rude,’ Sansa reprimanded. Arya simply rolled her eyes and left her alone. 

Sansa looked down at her lap where her wedding cloak was still bunched up. Carefully, she removed each of the object, placing them at the altar, before wrapping the cloak around her shoulders and drawing it tight around herself. She closed her eyes, and sang the Mother’s hymn quietly.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the last snows of the winter sky fell on her face, cleansing the horrors of the long night, Sansa closed her eyes delighting in the sooth of it. It felt like HOME had come back to her taking her to the happiness of a summer child’s first snow in Winterfell. She leaned in to the window, opening her arms to the white breeze. She wanted to go into the balcony. The babe made her blood run impossibly hot, but she was afraid to fall sick whilst she was with child. She stretched both arms out collecting the little flakes as droplets on her alabaster skin, when she felt a pair of strong arms circling around her waist. 

‘You weren’t there when I woke up. You didn’t come to me all day Sansa, so I...I came to your door…I don’t know if…but I…’ Sansa smiled at the hesitance of her husband. He was like a lost child when he was unsure of himself. 

‘You hesitated…but you came anyways. I have hesitated many times before. Made the journey to your door because you wouldn’t come to me. Perhaps you couldn’t come to me.’

‘When I was waking up, I saw you sitting with my head in your lap, underneath a gods’ tree in the Godswood in Kings Landing. You asked me to wake up. And I did. I heard your voice telling me to stay, I saw the Mother’s wreath on my bed- you wove it. You have always come to me. You have always been there little wife.’

Sansa exhaled and leaned into his chest. They stayed in comfortable silence as the snow fell on their arms.

‘Sansa’

‘Hmm?’

‘It’s been a long road for us. Seven years since we married. You didn’t love me when we married, did you?’

‘I was young, I wanted to love you but so much got in the way…when you returned to Kings Landing, slowly but surely I did…without meaning to, I did. I guess I didn’t love you the eve we married, but in some form or other, I have loved you ever since.’ Jaime swept her thick red mane to the side exposing the back of her pale neck, skimming his lips over the skin till he felt her skin heat to his touch, her breathe quickening as she leaned further into him.

‘I love you Sansa. I may not have loved you when I was first given you; I do not know since when, but I do.’ He whispered with a melancholy in his voice that made her heart thud.

‘I know’

‘“I know?” That’s rather anti-climactic.’ 

Sansa laughed and turned around to face her husband. He had lost a bit of weight, his golden curls had grown out, the usually clean shaven face now sported a heavy gold beard and his lips were a little drier than usual but otherwise he still looked the same. Even having just gotten out of the sick bed, he still looked like a golden god. She tentatively reached for his right, taking his wet palm in her’s and slowly bringing it to her lips.

Jaime just stared enthralled like an open-mouthed, love struck green boy as his wife moved his hand from her lips, down to her breasts, across her navel and finally below there- where she had carried his children. 

Sansa pressed his hand below her navel, allowing him to feel the slight hardness that had developed there, looking down to their joined hands, a small smile playing at her lips. 

Jaime’s eyes travelled back and forth between his wife’s face and their hands, his mouth widening further as his mind tried to register what Sansa was trying to say. He had seen that shy smile once before; she had pressed his hands to her womb once before; it hadn’t been this hard then, but he had KNOWN. She had been carrying Lowell in her womb. She was with child then. 

‘She is with child…she was carrying his child!’ His thoughts were racing. There were a million things he wanted to tell her then. He wanted to rejoice that life had brought him this opportunity again, he wanted to cry and thank her, he wanted to kiss her and tell the world he was to be a father again, he wanted to hide Sansa and his children inside of himself and never let the world in ever again, but somehow as with everything else, the only speech that escaped him was horribly foolish.

He brought his widened green surprised eyes to his wife’s face and gaped at her for a while before finally finding his voice.

‘How Sansa?’

His wife looked at him aghast, the smile in her eyes replaced with confused angry tears. Sansa jerked Jaime’s hands away from her body, as if it was burning her. 

‘How could he? He cannot POSSIBLY think that! Not HIM. He said he loved me. After all these years, HE loved ME. Then how could he ask me this?’

‘What Ser do you…you know how…in Riverrun…I did not lie with anyone else!’ 

Jaime quickly realized how his wife may interpret his question and reached out to touch her, feeling bereft when she sharply slapped his hand away. Panic rose within him as he watched Sansa’s eyes turn from ocean to ice as she made to walk away from him. On instinct, he pulled her against him, caging her between his body and the wall, preventing her from leaving him. Sansa struggled against his force but even weakened, Jaime was much stronger than her. 

Jaime held her by the waist, threading one hand through her mass of copper hair, tugging till her eyes met his.

‘I didn’t mean that- all of Sansa’s songs will be Jaime’s song, till the end. You are not the oathbreaker in this relationship little wife. I just...in Winterfell, after we made love…you…the moontea…’ He let go of her hair. Falling to his knees, he brought his face to her belly, inhaling deeply- taking in her scent and kissing her where their child was growing. 

‘I didn’t think you wanted another child from me Sansa’, his voice sounded heartbreakingly sad as he said that and Sansa felt her heart clench up recalling all the bitterness that had passed between them. Finally, she moved her hands to touch him. Hesitantly, gently, she moved her fingers through his golden curls. 

‘I should not have done that. I was so angry. But I should not have…all our children are blessings, we could have been blessed with another babe in my arms by now. It was petty thing to do. I should not have done that.’ Hearing the tears in her voice, Jaime stood up to face her, his one hand fluttering over her belly whilst the other reached out to caress her cheeks. 

Whilst he did not want her to be upset over this, hearing her affirm that she did want his children in her; that this babe was not a fluke caused by forgetfulness or the unavailability of moon tea, gave him great comfort. The thought of his wife having to carry his babe when she didn’t want to in her belly, did not sit right with him. She’d already given him more than he deserved. People may think what they like but he was not the kind of man to force such a thing on his woman. 

‘I did not mean to sadden you Sansa. I do not begrudge you the decision- it was yours to make, whether to allow my seed to take root. I’m joyous and grateful you gave me children Sansa. But no one would have thought you a monster for never allowing me to take root in you. Robert had been a monster to Cersei and she cleansed herself of his seed, even when it took root. Whether meaning to be or not, I cannot claim to have been better.’ 

Jaime’s confession was both surprising and sad to her. Sad at the state of her marriage and sad that her actions had made her husband think of himself as one of her monsters. She had only contemplated taking moon tea twice in her life, both times out of her anger towards her husband- the first time made her feel more shame than the second. But looking at him now, she regretted ever having even contemplated such a thing. He was her husband, the only man she had ever desired, ever loved; if she didn’t have his children, whose children WOULD she have? And if she didn’t have her children…she couldn’t even imagine such a reality. It would’ve destroyed Sansa to do as Cersei did and kill her husband’s seed, HER OWN CHILD, in the womb. Especially once it had taken root. Perhaps because unlike Cersei’s husband, her husband had never been her monster. He may’ve been a monster for others, but never for herself. Even when she was angry, he was still her love. 

‘It was the right thing to do. The long night was no time to be with child. I don’t think I could’ve borne what happened to Queen Daenerys happening to you Sansa.’ 

Sansa shook her head in disagreement. ‘It has never been safe for me to bare children. That wouldn’t have mattered. It may’ve been your seed but they are my children too Jaime. I WANTED to lay with you. You were never my monster, husband. I am happy to have another babe in my belly Jaime. It makes me so happy.’

Jaime kissed her then, his hands drawing soft circles over her shift on her jutting hip bones, which had remained in sharp contrast to the rest of her body despite birthing his children. Stirred and moved by her words, he finally let the joy of the news and his desire for his wife overtake him. Breaking the kiss breathlessly, he brought his lips to her ears and whispered.

‘You’ve made me so happy Sansa. I’m glad our babe makes you happy, I could make you happier little wife.’ 

Sansa smiled at his suggestive whisper, eyes downcast as a small blush crept up her cheeks. Gone was the confident seductress, replaced once again by his shy modest wife. Her modesty had always been attractive to Jaime; he must have seen her body in the throes of passion hundreds of times but she still blushed when he looked at her. Taking his hand in hers, Sansa slowly walked towards her bed as he grinned like an overly pleased cat. Upon reaching the bed, Sansa let go of his hand. Jaime absorbed his wife’s actions as she mounted the bed, facing him, propped up on some pillows before pulling the straps of her white night shift off her shoulders and down her arms till the material was bunched around her waist exposing her ample breasts, blush pink tips, enlarged by her impending motherhood and hardened in the cold air. Slowly, she parted her legs, giving him a glimpse of her ruddy curls and glistening cunt and Jaime felt himself harden almost instantly. Sansa opened her arms beckoning him into her body and he could only oblige in earnest. 

 

They lay together in silence, limbs tangled, Jaime’s head resting on Sansa’s breast as he gently brushed and suckled her rosy nipples. His hands would occasionally slide down to draw slow circles above the place where they’d been joined. This had always been a sort of ritual for them but the feeling of his soft unkempt beard rubbing across her sensitive breasts left a strange sensation that made Sansa both moan and giggle at the same time. She flushed as she remembered how it had tickled her between her thighs and felt so soft and rough as he’d taken her with his mouth. She wondered if it was sinful to feel such longing for a man- even ones’ husband- to be inside you. They stayed like that for a while basking in the afterglow of their love making, silence punctuated by Sansa’s giggling moans and Jaime’s smiling suckles till she decided to speak.

‘You look a proper lion with that golden beard. So…unlike you.’

She smiled when she felt him grimace onto her skin at her jest. ‘It’s too bloody cold to shave. Why does it displease you?’

‘You look…just as handsome as when I first saw you. Aggravatingly handsome.’ She felt him smirk on her skin then and rolled her eyes and let the comfortable silence of their intimacy take over once again till the next thought popped up.

‘Jaime?’ 

‘Hmm?’

‘When will it be safe for us…to finally…be?’

He stopped then, trying to figure out an answer that would comfort his wife. He thought perhaps when this war was over, when her brother sat the Iron Throne. But then he could just as easily perish in the coming battles. Even if he did not, Sansa’s sister still hated him- the little assassin could (in theory) kill him even if he was not on her list. She resented his part in the success of Tywin Lannister’s mechanism to have a Lannister heir in Winterfell, however much unintended. She hated him for Bran who had been incapable of the feeling…or any feeling himself. She hated him for Cersei. He sometimes wondered why he was not dead already but he knew it was Arya’s regard for her nephews that kept him alive. Perhaps for her sister’s sake as well. They did seem a lot closer and Jaime was grateful that Sansa still had some family- like he had Tyrion. But he couldn’t be sure how far her favour would last if she knew of their intimacy. 

Even with King Aegon, he was on somewhat shaky grounds at best. The man respected his skills, perhaps even accepted him as his nephews’ father, but seldom people seemed to understand that his relationship with their mother was also a part of that. His renewed relationship with Sansa would cause strain in her family, that much he was sure of. He didn’t know how they would react to the news of this new child. But perhaps, if he could somehow prove his worth, his commitment to his wife and all of whom she called family, in the battle to come, he could win the right to have his family back. He could right some of his past failings. In securing the rights of Prince Rhaegar’s, perhaps he could win the rights to secure his own.

He pondered on his answer for a while then, knowing his silence only increased Sansa’s anxiety, but he decided to answer truthfully- ‘I do not know. Perhaps…till your brother sits his throne…I think its best we do not announce our child.’

His wife cupped his face into her hands, pulling his face till their eyes met. There was a strange desperation there, the kind that reminded him greatly of the much younger wife he’d come home to in Kings Landing all those years back.

‘I don’t want…let’s just leave Jaime! We do not need to explain or announce this to anyone. Let’s just go- to Casterly Rock. It’s ours now. Or across the narrow sea. Or just anywhere! We can just live as smallfolks or tradesmen. I could be the wife of a sellsword in Braavos. You’d be the greatest of them all. Let’s get the children and leave.’

Jaime’s eyes softened then as he rose to meet her lips and cage her body beneath his. She was taller than when they’d married, but still so small beneath him. She was much harder than when they’d married, but still so soft around him. Sansa’s plea took him back- as if nothing had changed between them since Kings Landing. They’d been happy then…atleast in their marriage they were. 

‘When we were in Kings Landing…when we heard the news of your mother and brother’s murder, when you told me you were with child, I had wanted to ask you then. I had wanted to ask you many times- to leave, to go East, to disappear. Casterly Rock was never unreachable enough. Not whilst my father and sister still lived. I wanted to take you and the children, perhaps even Tommen and just…disappear.’

‘I would’ve gone with you. Anywhere you would’ve taken us, anyway you would’ve kept us, I would’ve gone and stayed with you. I would have raised our sons and kept our home, I would’ve been your wife and we would’ve been happy. That’s all I had ever wanted. Why did you never ask?’

‘Because I thought you’d be a terrible cook.’ He jested earning him a sharp slap on the side of his arm from his wife, whilst he laughed. But then he went quiet again and rolled onto his back, pulling Sansa into his chest. ‘Because I didn’t want our sons to lose what was rightfully theirs. I was never meant for the Rock, but our sons will be so much more than warriors.’

‘We could go now Jaime. We’ve fought the great war. Surely, we have paid our dues.’ Sansa mumbled quietly. 

‘Some dues can never be paid sweet wife. Besides this isn’t just about Jaime and Sansa. I have always escaped inside when things looked bleak. I don’t wish to escape anymore. I wish to be brave and face things head on. I wish for my children to know their father as a man who was unafraid to do what is right and needed, no matter the consequences. I want them to wear the title- ‘Kingslayer’ with pride and understand it. We are mother and father now…we cannot run Sansa. We must stay and fight- for what is right, for peace…so that our children may know a better legacy.’

She nodded then, reluctantly and demurely. 

‘Jaime?’ She asked again.

‘Hmm?’ 

‘I’m sorry…for your loss.’

‘You…you do not have to say that to console me Sansa. She was one of your monsters. I know you feel relieved if not joyous at her death and I do not begrudge you that in the least.’

‘I’m not sorry for that vile woman,’ the sheer hatred in her tone made Jaime wince. ‘But the babe, the babe was innocent. It should not have died like that.’

‘Perhaps…its better this way. What if it turned out just like Joffrey?’ 

‘What if it turned out like Tommen? He was the only piece of genuine goodness in that city…my sweet little boy. When I was heavy with Leo in my belly, he would sneak into our chambers to give me sweets. He would hide under my bed with his little kittens whenever Joffrey was in a mood. He would’ve been a good King if this world deserved goodness.’

Jaime gulped then, the guilt of being unable to save the child from his own soft and kind nature coming back to haunt him again. 

‘You’d said it yourself…cursed. The curse of your mother for trying to kill her child is to see my own die. I never should’ve made it this long, then it would end with me.’

Sansa looked up from her husband’s chest to his face before slowly bringing their hands to where their newest child was resting safely in her belly. 

‘This child is here because you lived. I birthed two thriving sons because you lived. There will be more if the gods bless and you live. This could never be a curse. I didn’t mean it. I was just angry. I understand now, I think a part of me has always understood. It makes me think my mother, must’ve understood too. That is why she let you go at the news of Leonel’s birth.’

‘How could she have possibly understood? How can YOU understand? WHAT do you understand? Even Cersei didn’t understand. She raged at me for hours. I loathed what I did but even my mad twin had more empathy for children than I did.’

‘The instinct to protect your children. Sometimes you don’t even know you are doing it for them, its subconscious. Your mind starts plotting at the mere hint of threat. Your body reacts even before your mind even reaches its conclusion.’

‘Yet they died anyways. The sick bed should have taken me Sansa. It’d be better if I was away from the children and this new babe. But I am too selfish to walk away.’ His whisper was so soft that Sansa wasn’t even sure she heard him.

‘If protecting your children gets you cursed then I must be too- I raised my glass to the deaths of my mother’s own children to protect my own. I plotted the death of my own kin for them…I became a kin-slayer in a round-about way I suppose.’ Sansa remained silent for a while, breathing heavily as she expunged herself of her sins before continuing. 

‘Your sister had told me when Leonel was born- love no-one but your children. I had thought it such a small-hearted way to live then. But I understood later- when they were threatened. I love you with a passion that burns to be apart. I love my family with loyalty for our roots. I love our people with dutiful dignity. But my children, there is nothing quite like it I’m afraid…I’d kill every single person here if I thought them a threat. Surely that earns me a curse…we both did what we had to. It’s not absolution for our sins- doing what we had to- but there is no way forward from living in the past. There is more to raising children than single-mindedly protecting them. From now onwards, let’s just swear to do what is right than what we had to. So that our children may know a better legacy,’ Sansa repeated his words to him with determined gravitas in her voice. 

Jaime brought their twined fingers to his lips, sealing their oath with a kiss, determined to do better for his living children. Many men carried the dead with them and many died for that. One can only live for the living and Jaime Lannister still had a lot to live for.


End file.
